Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
by sunburntdaisy
Summary: Peter follows Assumpta down to the basement... and then with that one little change we continue well into season four.
1. Chapter 1

_"I love you."_

_"Ah, would you take that thing off before you say things like that?"_

_"I can't help it."_

_Assumpta bit back a smile. "I know." She was biting back the words as well, but then the lights flickered and went out._

_"I'll go." Padraig offered_ but Assumpta needed a breather. Any second now one or the both of them would give the game away. She was half way down the steps when Peter caught her.

"Wait on." He flicked on a lighter. "I nicked it from behind the bar."

"I've taken on a thief have I?"

"I was going for handy around the house, but take it how you like it."

"Oh, I will." She continued down the stairs, nearly stumbling when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry, unfamiliar territory." He said.

"Ha." Unfamiliar territory indeed. "Isn't that what the lighter is for?"

"I'm afraid I'll set you on fire."

She laughed outright and stepped down onto the floor. He didn't need her for a hand-hold any more and she was disappointed when he loosened his grip. But then he brushed her hair aside and his breath on her neck served a meagre warning. He kissed her once, twice.

"I thought you were the one of us supposedly practised at self-control." The timbre of her voice surprised them both.

He cleared his throat and let her hair fall back in place.

"Not that I'm complaining." She turned, trying to see his face in the dark. It was no use. She reached, touched his cheek.

"Assumpta." Her name tripped from his lips, into the palm of her hand. He flicked the lighter twice and held a steady flame at eye-level.

"I know." She slipped her hand away and turned to the blasted fuse box.

"This is a mess." Peter said.

"Is that right?" As if she wasn't well aware. She went for the fuse.

"Wait." Peter reached up to turn off the mains but she hadn't paused. The jolt snapped through them both.

The lights shone for a moment then went out. Upstairs, the cheer of the crowd dissolved into a few distinct calls.

"Assumpta? Father?" Steps and more exclamations followed. Padrag's "Oh God," was followed by Brendan, "Michael, get down here." In moments the basement was full of people, crowding the pair on the ground. Quigley pulled out a lighter and held it over the scene.

Assumpta was half beneath the priest, but she was blinking, groaning, trying to move out from under his weight. "Oh my god." She half laughed.

"Are you alright?" Brendan asked in disbelief.

"I ah-" She began then turned to Peter and blanched. "Peter?" She reached for him, panicking when he didn't respond. She said his name again. Michael nudged past her and felt for a pulse.

"Brendan, do you know CPR?"

"Oh my god." Assumpta fell back, her hand over her mouth. Niamh moved to help her but she pushed her away. "Peter, say something." She begged, reaching out again as if her arms had minds of their own. "Peter, don't leave me."

"Assumpta." Niamh began, as if to scold, but Assumpta didn't hear her.

"I've got a pulse." Michael said tentatively. "It's not much. Did they say how far away that ambulance is?" He'd taken off the collar, opened Peter's top button. "Come on Peter." Michael nodded to Brendan to keep giving him breaths.

Assumpta groaned.

"Are you alright?" Michael turned to her.

She didn't even think, "I'm fine." But she couldn't quite manage to hide the pain.

"Keep going Brendan."

He turned to Assumpta. "I'm going to take off your shoes."

She shook her head. "No, just help Peter." She was pale, tears sluicing down her cheeks. "I'm fine. Just don't let him-"

Peter lurched.

Brendan sat back and the Doctor leaned over, speaking to Peter calm and clear.

Assumpta shook, confused – how could he be so calm? "Is he-?" She couldn't form a sentence.

"He's breathing." Michael exhaled relief. "Come on, let's clear some space."

Niamh stepped up and shepherded the crowd up, out of the cellar.

Assumpta moved around to see better, groaning all the while. "He's not breathing." She said, straining her eyes to see what she daren't believe.

"He is." Michael assured.

"Come on, Peter." Brendan sat back on his feet, watching Assumpta more than Peter. He caught sight of the burn on her hand and went for ice and water. She refused it all, knelt over Peter, shaking.

It seemed an interminable time before the ambulance arrived and they were half way to Cilldargen before Assumpta would let Michael look at her. She did as she was told without question or care, eyes fixed on Peter all the while.

"What about his feet?"

"They can wait."

"Why isn't he awake?"

"He's breathing, Assumpta. It's looking a lot better than it was."

The heart monitor beeped away reassuringly, then faltered again, but continued. She watched it, breathing through another wave of her own pain.

Michael reached for her other hand.

"It's fine." She said. "Can I touch him?"

Michael nodded. "Does he know?"

"What?"

"How you feel."

She looked him in the eye and eventually nodded.

"Good." Michael moved away.

"I suppose everyone does after..." Assumpta watched Peter and wondered what kind of mess he'd wake up to.

"Let's not worry about that now." Michael checked Peter's hands. "He wasn't touching the fuse?"

"No." Assumpta realised what had happened and reeled, "This is my fault."

"Assumpta-"

"He was touching me, that's why he got the worst of it. He told me to wait but I didn't. He was about to turn off the power."

"Where was he touching you?"

She gave him a look.

"The current passed between you. Was it his chest?"

"I don't know."

Michael pulled down the blanket and undid the rest of Peter's shirt, searching. "Oh thank god." He said.

"What?"

"It's his arm not his -"

Assumpta reached out and put her hand on his bare skin, over his heart. She couldn't feel it but the machine kept beeping.

They were separated on arrival at the hospital. Assumpta was checked over and checked out with nothing but a few bandages to show for it. She'd listened to her own heart monitor beep for a solid hour, and she'd have to do it again the next day, but she was desperate to hear Peter's. She found Michael in the hall, waiting. He stood and shepherded her to the seat, lifting her feet onto another chair immediately. "It can help with the pain."

"I don't care."

"Well, you should. This could be very difficult. Peter is going to need -"

"Say it."

"I was going to say he'll need you, but to be honest, I don't know how this is going to work."

"But he's going to be okay?"

"He was awake, briefly. He asked for you, and he understood where he was and what had happened, but he was in a lot of pain. They sedated him."

She gritted her teeth.

"I know it doesn't sound good, but it's better than I expected. They'll want him to stay here for a few days. I'll see if I can get them to keep him for longer, since there's no one to look after him at home."

"What?"

"He lives alone."

"I will."

He didn't say anything.

"It's not as presumptuous as it sounds."

"I didn't think it was presumptuous."

"Then what?"

"Father MacAnally was here earlier. I take it he was aware that you- ah."

She nodded. "Peter told him this morning – yesterday morning. What time is it?"

"Four."

She rested her head in her hand, barely containing tears.

"He'll pull through."

"Are you sure?"

He hesitated.

"Can I see him?" The tears spilled but they both ignored them.

"Of course." Michael led the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter woke to blinding light and wave after wave of a bone-deep ache. He took in his surroundings and the pain just seemed to increase. He looked down the bed, surely he was being crushed, but there was nothing there, just the sheet stretched across his body, loose over his feet. God – his feet.

He tried to sit up, and in strode a nurse, commanding him to lay back down. He tried to speak but his throat was so dry. He swallowed until he could manage. "Where's Assumpta?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know who that is?" She asked him a few questions but failed to answer any of his. Then she was gone and he was alone again. In the fog of pain time blurred into an endless haze. He tried to move, to get comfortable, tried to remember what had happened, what had happened to Assumpta. No one had said a thing about her.

And then she appeared and at first he thought he must be hallucinating.

Doc Ryan followed her in, insisted she sit down, then went to Peter. He dreaded another question, or anything that might dissipate the vision before him.

"He shouldn't be in this much pain." Michael hadn't even needed to ask the question and strode away to find a hospital doctor.

"I'm so sorry." Assumpta stood to be closer. "You tried to stop me from touching it and I was stupid and now- and now."

"I'm okay." He lifted his hand for hers and she offered the other one.

"You're hurt too."

"Just a couple of burns. I'm fine."

"Your hand?"

"It's nothing. You-" She gritted her teeth and blinked furiously, then shook her head.

"I'm okay."

She cocked her head to one side. "You'd better be."

He closed his eyes, cresting another wave of pain. She squeezed his hand. Michael returned, promising another doctor on his tail, and asked how Peter was feeling.

"Fantastic." Peter squeezed Assumpta's hand then let go and tried to sit up. Michael moved to help him. Upright, and clearly uncomfortable, Peter asked, "What happened?"

Michael looked concerned, "What do you remember?"

Peter moaned, curling forward inadvertently, then pulling himself upright, trying and failing to hide the pain. "Can I have the drugs she's on?"

"You've got the drugs she's on."

The hospital doctor arrived and Assumpta escaped. Michael found her outside, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth, eyes brimming, shoulders shaking.

"Try to remember." Michael put an arm around her, "this is the best case scenario, considering. I'm a little concerned about some memory loss but burns will heal and he's really doing exceedingly well."

Father Mac announced himself then, by blaring down the hall, "I'm glad to hear it. I take it he's receiving visitors then."

On Michael's nod the priest went in. Assumpta followed, only spurred on by the frustration on the older man's face.

"I'm glad to see you're up and about, Mrs MacGarvey." He expected a retort and got nothing. She seemed smaller than usual. He turned to the bedridden priest, "Father, how are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over."

"It wasn't me. Not that I haven't been tempted."

Peter plastered on a smile, determined not to be riled, and in enough pain that Father Mac's barbs seemed diluted. In fact, he easily looked right past the old priest to Assumpta. "Shouldn't you be sitting down?"

Father Mac looked confused for a moment then realised the object of Peter's concern and pulled out a chair.

Assumpta limped right past it to the far side of Peter's bed, choosing the chair by the wall, as if she were standing guard.

Peter lay back on the bed. "I bet you'd get a good street price for whatever they just gave me. Can we nick some for this one?" He nodded toward Assumpta, thrilled to see her smile.

"If you're up to it," Father Mac leaned forward in his chair, "I'd like to run a couple of things by you, then I'll leave you to rest."

"Please, before this wears off."

Michael made an excuse and left them but Assumpta wasn't budging.

"I needn't remind you, I'm sure, that although your duties will in all likelihood not continue beyond your recovery, that you are still a priest."

"No." Peter said simply.

"And the release from your vows could take months."

Peter nodded.

"These are extraordinary circumstances but I think we would all rather this – ah – situation did not gain more attention than necessary."

"I don't believe it." Assumpta stood. "Your primary concern, even now, faced with life and death, is the reputation of the -" she only just managed to keep the insulting adjective from her lips, and it certainly wasn't for Father Mac's sake, "the church."

"The church's primary concern is, as you put it, life and death, Mrs MacGarvey."

"Stop." Peter held up his hands. "People are probably going to assume the worst. He's right. Extra attention isn't going to make any of this easier. There's more than the church to worry about."

"What? They'll put me out of business when they discover I'm-" she couldn't say it

"Who's to say what 'they' will do, but a little discretion would go a long way." Father Mac eye-balled Assumpta, "For what it's worth."

He'd said his bit and left them alone.

"What happened when I was...?" Peter asked.

"Unconscious?"

"Yeah."

Assumpta sighed. "I reacted. I didn't think. I thought you were," she shook her head, "I panicked. And half of Ballykissangel were there watching, but I thought – I mean what's a little talk compared with that? Not that I even thought of it at the time but – oh, what are we going to do?"

"Come here." He held out his hand and she let him pull her closer. He moved across ever-so-slightly and she sat on the bedside.

She looked at his two hands, cocooning her un-bandaged one. "I thought I'd lost you. Compared to that everything else seems relatively unimportant, but it won't always be that way."

He lay back, tired but unwilling to let her go. "I wonder if you can buy t-shirts that say 'I survived cardiac arrest' – that'd be a good reminder."

She tried not to smile, not quite comfortable laughing at how close he'd been to dying. But he was lying there making jokes and it made her believe that they could get through anything.

"It's okay." He pressed her hand to his chest. "See? Nothing to worry about."

"It might be a few months before I threaten to kill you for not washing up."

He smiled wide. "There's a thought."

"What?"

"That could be us – fighting about who's doing the lion's share of the dishes."

"No point fighting about it. You are."

He laughed. "Fair enough."

"I love you." The words fell out of her mouth and for a moment she wished them back, but then she saw his expression – not a smile, no, something else entirely. He swallowed, blinked – he was trying not to cry, she realised. She didn't want him to cry. She inched up the bed, moving her hand from his chest to his cheek. Now she was the one swallowing back tears, but that didn't matter. "I love you." She said again.

Finally, he smiled. "Remarkable."

"What?"

"You."

She laughed and shook her head but he stopped her, both hands on her face and too close to be misunderstood. "What did they put in your IV?"

He pressed his thumb to her lower lip. "That's right. Blame the drugs." He lifted himself to kiss her.

She stopped half-stunned, despite the fair warning. In fact they both did, for several seconds, all the while breathing in, inhaling each other. Her exhale against his open lips was his undoing. He caught her up and she took it as permission, prompting his mouth open, tasting him tentatively. He lay back breathless and pulled her with him, her head on his chest.

"I know you should go. You need to rest too, and then there's the pub, and appearances to consider."

"But it's so very hard to care?" She volunteered.

"Exactly."

She laughed. "Don't you hate it when Father Mac is right."

He shrugged. "You're my boss now."

"And I'm always right." She quipped then heard herself and turned serious.

"What is it?" He asked of the sudden change.

"If I hadn't kept going when you said to wait – none of this would have happened."

"If I hadn't gone downstairs with you, then what? We could play that game all day, Assumpta. What happened happened. Forgive yourself. I have."

"It's easy for you. You're a priest."

"Am I?"

"Almost." She could still barely believe what was about to happen - that he would take such a step.

"Barely."

After a silence, she spoke. "It's easier to forgive you than to forgive myself."

He nodded.

"I should go." She pulled herself up. "Doc Ryan had another patient to see but he drove me down and he's probably afraid to walk in.

"Just in case?"

She smiled, leaned over and kissed him again. "Just in case."

"You'll come tomorrow?" He asked as she stood up.

"Yeah."

"You don't have to. I know there's a lot going on."

"I'll be here."

He looked like he was about to cry again. "Thank you."

She pulled herself away and found Michael at reception, making a poor show of not waiting for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Niamh barrelled up before Assumpta had even managed unlocking the door. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Assumpta went in and left the door open. There was no point resisting Niamh.

"Padraig said you'd gone in the car with the doctor."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Fresh dressings." Assumpta held up her bandaged hand as if to say, 'Stop in the name of Love.' But she saw that Niamh was genuinely concerned and so she gave a little more. "They just wanted to check me over again. Listen to the old ticker. I'm fine, Niamh."

She nodded. "I'll put on some tea."

Assumpta was too tired to resist and her feet throbbed. She followed Niamh through to the kitchen and then realised the power must be on. "Who fixed it?"

"Dad and Padraig did a patch-up. It's not a long term solution, but you're not to go down there."

Assumpta shook her head. "Is that right? How much do I owe them?"

"Nothing." Niamh set the kettle on the stove and turned to Assumpta. "Is he alright?"

Assumpta gritted her teeth. "Not really. Your Dad's suddenly feeling charitable?"

Niamh pressed her lips together. "Will he be okay?"

Assumpta couldn't look at her, but nodded. "Probably."

"Oh, thank god."

"Something like that."

Niamh made the tea in silence and sat opposite Assumpta. "So this is the real reason it could never have worked with Leo?"

Assumpta banged her cup down but the sound alone took all the fight out of her.

"Sorry." Niamh sipped her drink and watched her friend. "What's going to happen?"

"Million dollar question."

"He hasn't decided?"

"No, he has."

Niamh swallowed her reaction. "You couldn't have waited till after he'd christened my son? Though I suppose he wouldn't have been doing that now anyway."

Assumpta leaned her head on her hand, pushing back her hair.

"Is he really okay?"

With a shrug, Assumpta said, "Doctors never give straight answers. No one's promising anything." She sighed, "But he's making jokes and getting up Father Mac's nose, so there's hope."

Niamh smiled. "I'm glad he's alright."

"Let's hope you're not the only one." Assumpta sighed.

A knock resounded through from the bar.

"We're not open!" Assumpta called out.

Padraig walked in anyway. "You're back? Everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Padraig. We're not open."

"I'll open for you." Niamh offered. "You need the money for the electrics."

Assumpta was about to refuse.

"You go up to bed. I'll bring you a sandwich in a bit. People need a place to go, at a time like this, and it's no bother. Go on." Niamh walked out to the bar, whipping the towels off the taps as if her friend had no say in the matter.

But Assumpta wasn't up to a fight and she wasn't about to walk out to the bar. She wasn't ready to answer so publicly for her reaction to Peter and the accident. Hiding in bed sounded idyllic. She took her pain meds half an hour before she was really meant to, then went to sleep. Niamh didn't wake her for dinner. She slept right through till the early hours of the morning when the drugs had properly worn off. She took another dose, but couldn't get back to sleep.

Hoping the doctor had good reason for warning her off driving, she took the first bus into Cilldargen. Peter was pale and the shadows under his eyes caught her attention at a glance. "Sleep well?" She asked.

He smiled on seeing her but didn't answer.

"Sleep at all?"

"Not much. You?"

She nodded and pulled the chair up to his bedside.

"It's not to do with all this – well, maybe a little. My mind just goes in circles."

"You weren't sleeping even before all this, were you." She recalled what he'd said by the lake - _I'd like some sleep_ – how was that only two days ago?

"Yes, well." He admitted.

"What were you thinking about?"

He reached out for her hand. "It's not all bad. You've come up once or twice."

"Is that right?"

"Just once or twice."

She lifted his hand to her lips. "You're worried about what people will say, what they'll do, when they hear."

"That, and my brothers are coming today."

"Oh, should I go?"

"No. They won't get in till later. Don't go." He seemed panicked at the prospect.

"I'm not – I won't." She shifted to the side of the bed. "Do they know?"

He shook his head.

"You think they'll be upset?"

"Not really. I don't know."

She thought of Niamh's reaction – a more gentle response than expected, though undoubtedly softened by concern. "I spoke to Niamh."

"About-?"

Assumpta nodded. "She was worried about you, about us both. She didn't seem upset."

"Kiaran's christening."

She nodded.

"And everything else." Peter added. "I sometimes think, 'what if I'd never become a priest?' but then I'd never have moved to Ballykay."

"I know."

"Perhaps someone up there is singing, 'I know something you don't know,' having a little laugh."

"Peter-" she warned, not sure why it bothered her so much when he expressed doubts about his faith.

"What?"

"You don't really think it's like that do you?"

"I don't know, Assumpta."

"This is what you're up nights thinking about."

He didn't answer her.

"You know, I envied you." She confessed.

"What?"

"Not all of it – definitely not all of it – but to have a belief, to be sure about something so-" she met his gaze, "I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could."

He watched her, warmed by her trust in him, knowing she didn't share this easily. "And wishing don't make it so."

She nodded.

"At least you're honest."

"And you're not?"

"I am now."

She looked at his hand, marvelled at it. The thumb that had drawn hundreds of crosses on hundreds of foreheads now traced a line back and forward from her wrist to her index finger. "Are you blessing me?" She asked, looked up and found he was asleep. She didn't dare move. He needed this.


	4. Chapter 4

The rumour had spread: Fitzgerald's was open for business. Niamh had opened and the place was busy. She rifled off a list of sandwich orders to Assumpta when she arrived.

"We've barely any food." Assumpta slipped behind the bar, ignoring the pub-full of eyes following her.

"I picked up the necessary." Niamh plonked down one pint and started pouring the next.

"Have you seen him?" Brendan called out.

Assumpta stopped and stared at him – he of all people, stoking the fire! Before she barked back at him and made it worse she escaped to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. She was wrestling the twistie-tie on the bread bag when Brendan came in. "Assumpta. I didn't mean-" He saw the look on her face, fury yes, but fear too. He cocked his head to one side, squashing his own anger at her assumption that he'd be so nasty. "I only meant to ask how he was doing?"

It took her a moment to hear him, to absorb the truth of it. "He's ah-" She threw the bread aside and Brendan picked it up, easily removing the tie and handing it back to her. "Michael keeps saying it's best case."

"But you're not convinced."

"I don't know."

"I thought I'd go visit this afternoon. Try to get the picture out of my head." He shook his head, as if that would help.

Assumpta remembered that it was Brendan who'd been doing CPR, that he'd been down in the basement with her the whole time. Of course he should visit, she nodded. It'd do Peter good to see that his friends wouldn't all abandon him, that they were concerned, not sitting in judgement."

"You're okay?" Brendan watched her.

"I will be." She swiped a knife through the margarine, a dismissal if ever there was one. Sandwiches made, she returned to the fray. People asked how she was and how she was healing. They asked if Father Clifford was getting better and if he'd be back by Sunday.

She played along, as if she didn't know better, "I don't know. Ask the doc." But Doc Ryan wasn't on hand and soon enough the lunch crowd dissipated. When they were finally alone, cleaning up, Assumpta turned to Niamh, "What _are_ people saying?"

Niamh walked right past, arms full of dishes, clearly reluctant to answer.

"I need to know." Assumpta stopped her.

"What do you think?"

"I think the worst. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong, but it's – it's a mixed bag. There are those who assume some torrid affair was taking place right under their noses."

"I wish." Assumpta scoffed, earning a smile.

"And there are others who didn't see a thing and won't believe a word against their beloved Father Peter."

"No one's jumping to defend my morals then?"

"You _are_ still married."

Assumpta glared at her for a moment before speaking. "Thank you for your help. Just go."

"If you've nothing to be ashamed of then say so. I'll believe you."

"Why should I have to defend myself. Who made you judge and jury?"

"I want to believe the best."

"It's none of your business."

"No, I suppose I'm nobody in this. Who am I? Just some stranger in the street?"

"Three days!" Assumpta shouted, fed up. "Three years of nothing – nothing. He – we finally speak and would you ever believe it, the same _day_ he's literally, _actually_ struck down." Assumpta ran out of fight and leaned on the bench. "That's what they'll say, isn't it?" She looked up at Niamh whose expression gave it away: someone had already suggested that very thing.

"People will get used to it. Just give them time."

"Yeah." Assumpta was far from convinced.

"You're lucky I'm not easily frightened off though. You're exhausted. Let those soak while we have a cup of tea."

"I'm fine." Assumpta said but Niamh held out a chair and waited till she gave in.

* * *

In the evening no one said a thing about Peter. In fact, no one said much at all to Assumpta, but the pub was busy enough to turn a profit and the land lady was tired enough not to question the sudden disinterest.

She had an appointment with Doc Ryan and the next morning. He changed her dressings, expressed satisfaction at the way she was healing, but would tell her absolutely nothing about Peter, having remembered, all of a sudden, about doctor/patient confidentiality.

"I'll ask him myself but he won't say the worst of it." Assumpta made one more hopeless bid.

"That's his prerogative." Michael answered.

She left in a huff, but with permission to drive, at last. Unfortunately, when she got to the hospital, Peter already had visitors. He beamed on seeing her, earning the raised brows of the woman and two men standing around his bed.

Assumpta slowed, suddenly nervous. She offered a 'hi' to the strangers and asked Peter how he was feeling.

"I'm running out of new and interesting answers to that question."

She smiled, shook her head. "They're still giving you the good drugs then."

"Assumpta, these are my brothers – Mark, Andy, and Andy's wife, Di."

Assumpta nodded and shook hands all around. That done, Mark spoke up.

"You're aware, I hope, that if Middlesborough are winning, his shorts don't get a wash."

Peter let his head fall back and Andy gave Mark a good thwack. Assumpta just smiled.

"She deserves to know what she's getting into." Mark was the taller of the two and always looked like he was laughing on the inside.

"Ah, the man saved her life. He can probably get away with a few dirty habits." Andy thought for a moment but shrugged rather than saying whatever he'd been about to add.

Peter reached out and took Assumpta's hand, pulling her closer. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'll wash them. Promise."

"If you don't, I will."

He couldn't wipe the grin off his face after that. He was fit to burst and all at the assumption of some mundane shared domesticity. The others soon made their excuses and left.

"Hi." Peter said again.

She put her hand to his cheek, holding back from kissing him though it seemed the obvious and natural way to greet him all of a sudden.

Then the nurse came in to hook him up to a heart monitor. "The doctor will be in shortly." She said, then left them to it.

"So what are they telling you?" Assumpta pulled up a chair.

"Oh, you know, not much."

"What about how long you need to stay?"

"I keep getting different answers – but it's not like I've got anywhere to go. The new priest will need Brian's place. Brendan's picking up my things but he didn't volunteer to put me up and given the circumstances, I doubt I'll be getting many offers."

"There's always my place."

"Let's try not to get run out of town. If we can manage it."

"And if we can't?"

He looked at her squarely. "What have I missed?"

"Oh, you know."

"Assumpta-"

She gave him the reader's digest version of what Niamh had told her, then promptly changed the subject. "Did they tell you yet what the long term effects might be – of all this?" She pointed to the machine.

He hesitated, then nodded. "After all, you deserve to know what you're getting in to."

She gave him a warning look. "You think I'm so fickle?"

"No, but if I'm always forgetting things, that's bound to get frustrating."

"When are you not frustrating? So the details of exactly why are going to change." She shrugged. "What else? Hit me."

"Heart stuff. All sorts. Muscle function, but there's physio for that."

"Which muscles?"

"Don't worry. I'll still be able to haul a crate of beer in from the car."

"Not in the near future you won't. Niamh won't let you." On his eye-roll she went on. "And you thought I was the boss."

"Is she keeping you from over-doing it?"

Assumpta nodded. "Only because I'm half-hiding from the gossips and quite willing to stay out of sight."

"Whatever works." He said. The beep of the heart monitor tripped up. He saw the shift in Assumpta's features.

"It kept doing that," she said, "in the ambulance. Scared me half to death then too."

"I'm okay." He insisted.

"You saved my life."

"Worth every bit of this then."

She shook her head. "I love you."

He smiled. "Yep."

She laughed at that, turning serious when the monitor skipped a beat. "I wish you could stay with me. I understand why you can't, but there it is."

He brought her hand to his chest and closed his eyes. "This is enough for now."

The doctor arrived with an abrupt, "Father Clifford."

Assumpta made to pull her hand away but Peter clamped it in place. "Mr Clifford, or just Peter, please."

The doctor looked less than impressed but turned his attention to the print-out from the monitor.

Assumpta looked at Peter, eyes full of questions. He looked back at her, firm as ever, utterly determined. He was ready for whatever anyone might throw at them, but she wondered if he realised just how difficult things could be.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day she found his door closed and was wondering if she should knock when Andy and Di came along, cardboard coffee cups in hand.

"Good morning." Di smiled warmly. "He's in with the doc."

"This isn't half bad. Let me get you one." Andy handed his cup to his wife. "How do you take it?" Assumpta was so warmed back by their open welcome she let him go ahead and buy her coffee, and from a vending machine at that. He stopped a few steps away and turned back, "How does Peter take it?"

"As it comes."

"I bet he does." Andy laughed and continued.

"Sorry." Di shook her head.

"No, it's – well, could be worse, eh?"

"Yes, I suppose you sort of jump in the deep end now don't you? One way to skip the dilly-dallying bit of a relationship. It's very much all or nothing – though perhaps with someone like Peter that would always be the case."

"Oh, I don't know. You could say we've been dilly dallying for months, years."

"But without the perks."

Assumpta laughed.

"Although I suppose there are other perks," Di sipped at her coffee, "none of the confusion that comes with hasty or false intimacy, a certainty of sorts." Di seemed to remember how little she really knew the woman she was speaking to. "You've been a good friend to him. Not that we knew anything, well, he mentioned people in Ballykissangel. Others and you."

Assumpta barely knew what to say to all that but she was confident Di and Niamh would either love or hate each other.

Di went on. "Do your family know Peter?"

"I don't really have a family."

"Oh." She hesitated then smiled. "Well you do now. Ready or not."

Andy was back. The doctor came out and in they went.

"You made it – oh, and Assumpta." Peter grinned. "Aren't I spoiled."

Andy stepped up, "We can't stay long but thought we'd pop in." He handed over the coffee cup. "Sleep much?"

"I can't wait to get out of here." Peter confessed, rubbing his head and putting the too-hot cup aside. "Thanks. At least I've got my own room." He stopped and looked to Assumpta. "Don't tell me – priest perk."

She offered a wry smile. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

"It's good we're not leaving you all on your lonesome." Andy sighed happily. "Someone at least might keep an eye on you."

"I'll try." Assumpta held up her coffee cup in thanks. "But I'm not promising anything."

"Very wise." Di grinned. "If it happens on a football field you can't be held responsible."

They talked travel and plans and not much later Andy and Di made to leave.

"I'll walk you out." Peter shifted himself, re-tying his robe. "I'm meant to be on my feet, more and more." He was far from steady but shrugged Andy away and Assumpta didn't dare take his hand. No doubt a public display like that would guarantee a surprise visit from Father Mac. It was slow going but they waved goodbye at the front desk and then Peter reached out and took Assumpta's hand, tugging her in another direction. "Let's do a lap."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"I suppose there's not much point hiding now." She lifted their hands together and rested her other hand on his arm.

"Not even my doctor visits me every day. But you do."

"And my impression of the devout altar flower arranger isn't quite spot on."

"Oh, I don't know. Go on, show us."

She slapped his arm and saw the wince, her own expression turning to horror. "I'm so sorry."

"No no." He took her hand. "Honest mistake. At least my hands are unscathed. This must be difficult to keep clean and dry."

"I manage. How bad it is?"

"This?" He pointed to the top of his arm, where they both knew the shock had passed from her into him. "No more than a nasty bruise."

"And your feet?"

"They'll heal."

She studied him, determined to have the whole truth. "They must be worse than mine, considering everything, and every time I catch a glimpse of mine I feel half-ill."

"I haven't really looked. But I'm walking every day. Hopefully they'll let me go tomorrow."

"Yeah? I can come get you."

"That'd be great. But I don't know when or even if – I'll let you know."

She nodded. "Niamh won't mind watching the pub. She's been really helpful."

"That's Niamh."

"I think she's trying to make up for – I don't know."

"What other people are saying?"

"Maybe."

"Do you think she'd loan me their spare room?"

"Oh God, you still haven't got a place to stay."

"No. I don't even know what Brian's done with my things."

"But you told me Brendan was picking them up."

"Did I? Oh, oh that's right. I forgot." He stopped walking.

She watched him. There it was, the first lapse. The first she'd witnessed anyway. "Let's go back to your room."

He put on a brave face, a cheeky smile. "Let's."

She laughed.

Once he was settled in bed she asked the question she'd been wondering about, but putting off, "Did you tell your mum?"

"About you? Not in so many words."

"But she knew?"

"She suspected. I think. She was a terrible gossip. She liked to speculate." He smiled, exhaled a little laugh, then turned sad. "Did you get on with your mum?"

"Depended on the week." Assumpta quirked a smile, almost. "She was a lot like me – or I'm a lot like her. Poor dad."

"What was he like?"

"Miserable." She sighed. "He was dissatisfied – with the pub, the town, the country. He had ideals."

Peter raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, alright, I know. Not that different from me either."

"Assumpta-"

"I'm not miserable. Promise." She squeezed his hand.

"But you're dissatisfied."

She glared at him.

"You won't settle for mediocrity. You're an activist."

"Much good it's done."

"Kept me in Ballykay. Kept Brendan in a job."

"That was you, and Enda Sullivan's son. No, I am like my dad. The pub keeps me grounded. Don't knock down the wood if the road will boost profits."

"But you took them tea and sandwiches." He offered.

The looked at each other for a minute, remembering their conversation that night. He'd left on retreat so soon after that – because of that night, perhaps. And he'd come back to find her married.

"What?" Assumpta asked, reluctant to voice her own thoughts.

"I should have said. I should have said something then."

"What would you have said?"

"That I couldn't give up my vocation if I wasn't sure? I don't know."

"When were you sure?"

He laughed, but not happily. "As soon as Niamh told me you'd married-"

Assumpta sighed. "And now I have to get divorced – and you, ever so slightly devout."

"If that's what it takes."

"You're giving up an awful lot, Peter."

"Good thing I'm sure, isn't it?"

It took some courage to keep looking him in the eye then, but she found assurance there and clung to it.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Father Mac announced himself and walked right up to the bed, holding out a folder. "Would I be wrong in guessing you know where to find a cup of coffee around here?" He looked at Assumpta and fished in his pocket for money.

She bristled.

"Father-" Peter warned.

"I take milk and sugar."

"Does this look like my bar?"

He looked from the one to the other, "There are certain common features."

"Please." Peter said to stop the seemingly inevitable argument, then he reached out to Assumpta, "Perhaps I'd better do this alone."

She acceded, stood and held out her hand for Father Mac's money.

"Oh, excellent. No hurry."

She shot him a look then left but didn't get out quite fast enough to keep from hearing, "I hope you both remember what we agreed on."

She returned, non-poisoned coffee in hand, just in time to hear Peter say. "You know, she never asked for any of this."

"Oh, she's quite the innocent, is she?"

"More than you think."

Assumpta stepped in. "All part of my brilliant plan to bring down the church."

Peter glared at her as if to say she was hardly helping, but when it came to Father Mac, she had no intention of _helping_.

Father Mac looked at her squarely. "I might have thought that, once upon a time." He'd been there, in the basement. He'd seen everything. She felt exposed but stood her ground, for Peter's sake.

"Good afternoon, Mr Clifford." The older priest took his leave.

A minute later Assumpta realised the significance of it. "What?"

"Not officially," Peter handed her an envelope," but effectively. Save the frame for the final sign off."

"I'm guessing this particular part of things lacks the usual pomp and ceremony."

"Probably."


	6. Chapter 6

Assumpta spread far too much margarine on the sandwiches. "I know it's a lot to ask."

"Hardly." Niamh tore leaves off a lettuce. "I've offered it to him before, but then Dad lost the house and at the last minute showed up."

"When was that – ah, when Leo was here." Assumpta hated what she'd done to him, making him homeless not the worst of it, but no wonder he couldn't have stayed with them. (A/N: how about a story where he does stay with them...?)

Niamh shook the lettuce dry. "He can't stay here. And it's not as if Ambrose can complain his business is suffering because we're housing the priest-run-amok."

Assumpta laughed at that. "If only people knew."

"New what?"

How little amok he'd run. "Never mind."

Padraig called through from the bar, "Assumpta!"

"I've got these." Niamh hip-bumped Assumpta toward the door.

For the first time in nearly a week Siobhan sat at the bar, offering a grim smile.

"Long time no see." Assumpta approached, weary.

"I'm trying to resist temptation."

"The secret," Padraig lifted his pint, "is to yield to it, isn't that right Assumpta?"

"Tell that to the baby." Siobhan put her money on the counter and ordered a sandwich and an orange juice. "What did you think I was resisting?"

"Nothing." Assumpta put the money in the till.

"I'm hardly in a position to pass judgement now, am I?"

"You next line, Padraig, is something about casting stones if you're without sin." Assumpta shot him a look and marched back into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Niamh looked up as Assumpta walked right past her.

"Nothing."

"Ah, go on with you."

"He hasn't called."

"So? Visit him anyway. It's hardly busy here. Tell him I'll have the spare room ready for whenever my brand new live-in nanny arrives."

Assumpta stopped at this sudden change of plan, then smiled and shrugged. It wasn't a bad idea at all really.

* * *

Peter's door was open and Assumpta breezed in to find the bed empty, the linens all too white, flat and ready for the next poor sap who needed them. She only thought of one explanation: all that heart-stuff he'd been so vague about, it had all hit, in the middle of the night, when no one was here. No one would have called her – who was she, after all?

She found her legs and by the time she got to the nurses station her voice had returned. "I'm looking for Peter Clifford. He's gone."

"That's right, checked out half an hour ago."

Assumpta plonked herself down on the nearest chair. By the time she got back to Ballykissangel she was furious. She stormed into the pub and there he was, seated between his brother and Siobhan, eating sandwiches.

She stopped in the middle of the room. "I went to get you."

"Mark was in Cilldargen anyway, and since he's staying here and was driving over, it made sense for him to bring me back."

"I had to rent a car, so why not a convertible eh?" Mark grinned.

Assumpta tore her eyes away and marched out of sight. This was too public. Of course he followed.

"You know what they're all saying now?" She said before he had a chance to speak.

"No idea." He clearly didn't care. "What's the matter?"

"You forgot, didn't you."

"What did I forget?"

"You said you'd call when you were ready – that you wanted me to collect you and you'd call." She shook her head.

He looked utterly baffled, searching his clearly zapped brain. "I did, didn't I?"

She nodded.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head, crossing the room till she could wrap her arms around him. A second later he followed suit.

"Don't scare me like that."

He held her tight. "I'm not sure I can help it." She sighed against his open collar and he shivered. "I better get back out there."

"You'd better." She let him go.

"Father!" came the joyful cries of Liam and Donnel. "Welcome back!"

Peter didn't correct them, "Thanks boys."

"She's put you to work already has she?" Brian's voice followed. "Everyone act surprised, will you? It's the decent thing."

"Hi Brian." Peter said, years of restraint coming in handy.

"Speaking of the decent thing."

"Dad-" Niamh warned.

"Don't worry, Niamh." Peter stepped around the bar, "I need to pick up my things from Brendan's."

Brian did _not_ look appropriately contrite for making an ill man homeless.

Assumpta went through the back door and met him out front.

"Well done." He said, on seeing her. "I half expected you to come out with a broken bottle, just for him."

"There were none on hand. I'll drive you."

"No hurry. Brendan's not off school for another hour or so."

"Oh, then why are you-?"

"Flight over fight, for today at least."

"God, it's good to see you upright." She reached out for him then caught sight of Kathleen Hendley sweaping her stoop. "Speaking of flight, shall we?"

They got in Assumpta's van and waved Miss Hendley goodbye on their way out of town.

"A whole hour to ourselves. Unheard of." Assumpta smiled at the empty road.

He laughed. "That's probably a good thing."

"Heaven forbid we should be as bad as they say."

He smiled peacefully, resting his head back on the chair, looking out at the layers of green hills unfolding out to the horizon, and then over at the woman beside him.

"What?" She asked of the silence.

"If not for the blisters we could go for a walk."

"I don't think either of us are up to summiting a mountain quite yet."

"Who needs mountains anyway?" He reached out and gave her gear-shift hand a quick squeeze. She pulled over at the next passing bay, and undid her seatbelt. Peter did the same, twisting in his seat to face her. "Niamh offered me her spare room. I'll babysit for her while she works for you – just until seeing me behind the bar doesn't scare away the customers."

"There's one or two I wouldn't mind scaring away."

"You don't need me for that."

"Damn straight." After a silence she asked. "Where's Mark staying?"

"At your place, if you can take him."

"He can have his pick of rooms – so long as he doesn't use all the lights and power points at the same time."

"They're not fixed yet?"

"If I could afford to get it fixed we wouldn't be having this conversation." She snapped, then reached out and took his hand. "I'm sorry. It's hardly your fault. In fact, if I hadn't stuck my fingers in the socket or gone to pieces over you in front of half the damn village-"

"You don't need to apologise. You're allowed to be angry. And you can go to pieces if that's what you need to do."

"I know." As she said it, she realised she did know it – that he'd be there, he'd stay even if she were a mess.

"You've taken the brunt for the both of us this past week. It'll get easier, I promise you."

"You don't really know that though, do you?" I mean, I can barely keep the place up and running. If curiosity brought back the punters up till now, there might still be a back lash and once you're off babysitting duty and working behind the bar-"

"I'll crack out Mum's secret paella recipe. That'll bring the hoards."

"Paella?"

He nodded.

"Brian's made me an offer."

"What?"

"It's not the first time."

"You're not seriously thinking-"

"I'm not ruling it out either." She bit back indigence at his genuine shock and sadness. "Look, we don't need to make any more big decisions for a few weeks eh?"

He almost smiled, looking at her hand in his. "Do you think you can handle one more?"

"Probably not."

"Oh, okay then."

"I'm kidding. Ask me – what is it?"

He hesitated then looked up from her hand. "Marry me?"

She gaped, mouth moving as if to speak and failing.

He kept a hold of her hand but shifted to reach a pocket and pulled out a drawstring pouch. "I'm sure there's some brilliant way to do this but after everything we've been through-"

She leaned over and stopped him with a kiss. "Of course I'll marry you, you mad English-" It was his turn to shut her up. And then he dropped the ring, still in its bag.

Brendan found them, bums in the air, bent over the car seats in search of the damn ring. "What have you lost?"

"Ah..."

"Erm..."

"Never mind." Peter shot Assumpta a glance, just to check they were on the same page, and for once they were.

"All your worldly possessions, perhaps?" Brendan supplied. "They're at my place, Mr short-term-memory-loss."

"Thank you so much." Peter said, then got back in the car. They drove while Brendan biked so they got to his place before he did.

"I suppose we'd best not say anything just yet." Peter said, having another look down the side of the passenger seat.

"Well, we needn't worry about the ring giving it away."

He went to have another look and she grabbed him, laughing. "I'm not worried Peter."

"I am. That was my mother's ring."

"Oh." She opened the door and pulled out the mats. There it was, the little grey pouch.

"Must be important." Brendan laughed at them.

"Earing." Assumpta pulled off one of hers. "Found it!"

"Right then." Peter walked toward the house.

"What, is it an antique?" Brendan let them in.


	7. Chapter 7

At the end of Brendan's driveway, Assumpta, who was driving, handed Peter the ring pouch. "I can't take that."

"What?" He started to panic.

"Just kidding." She smiled. "It's beautiful."

"Does it fit?" He pretended the joke hadn't bothered him.

"I didn't try it on." She looked over at him, now wanting to reassure him, "Didn't want Brendan for a witness. Not yet anyway."

The pub wasn't overly busy on their return but Niamh had to go home and get the dinner on. She'd invited Mark as well as Peter for the meal. Assumpta kept the bar service by herself for the evening but of course hoped it was Peter arriving ten minutes before closing for a night cap. It was Mark, well fed, wined and ready for bed.

She hoped it might be Peter first thing the next morning too, but it was Niamh. Which of course meant Peter was busy with the baby.

"Thank God for Peter Clifford." Niamh grinned. "Though I won't stay all day. He says he's fine but he looks knackered, and Kiaran can be a handful."

Mark had come down in time to hear the last of that. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Everyone, it seemed, would get to spend some of the day with Peter, except Assumpta. She hated being like this, wanting so much of him, but it was something of an understatement to say her defences were down.

Peter did come in for a drink in the evening, Mark in tow, and he even snuck out to the kitchen, but they could hardly relax then and there, even if the bar wasn't over-busy.

"How's your day been?" Assumpta busied herself for fear of giving away just how much she wanted him.

"Fine. Yours?"

"Long." She wasn't going to sugar-coat it but he didn't need the details.

"Busy?"

"I wish."

"I suppose Brian's place opening up this week doesn't help matters."

She acknowledged the truth of that with a glance. She wasn't up to Peter's unfailing positivity just now so she daren't complain for fear of setting him off. "Kiaran behaved himself?"

Peter shrugged. "I thought you might want this." He held out the little grey drawstring pouch."

She brightened and stepped over to him, playing at reluctance. "Oh, okay." She saw the serious look on his face just in time. "Would you like to do the honours?" She squeezed his hand the released her grip but still offered her hand.

"You're sure?"

"Of course." She realised the strength of his doubt. "Are you serious?"

"Sometimes it's hard to be sure."

"Hard for me or hard for you?"

"Both, probably."

"I'm not changing my mind, Peter." She kissed him for good measure, meaning to pull away again, but he kept hold of her hand and his other arm went around her waist, though he still held the jewellery bag in it. He'd never kissed her like that before, damn-near possessively. She wanted to prove he didn't need to fight for her, that the battle was already won, that she was his for the keeping. She forgot the pub, lost herself in the contours of his back beneath her hands, the feel of his chest pressed to her own, his hair between her fingers and his mouth – oh. She stumbled back two steps and he was about to release her then, but she had a point to make, claiming his mouth again, her hands holding his face in something a lot like worship.

"Assumpta! Customers!" God knows who said it but they said it three times before she let Peter go and headed for the door.

He pulled her back, his hands awfully low on her hips. She wondered if he realised what he was doing to her. Then he slipped his hand into her pocket.

She moaned aloud, turned back, ready to kiss him again.

He smiled, holding her at a distance. "Keep it safe."

He'd put the ring in her pocket, she realised with a laugh. She took a deep breath, which didn't do nearly enough to restore her equilibrium. Peter thumbed her lip and showed her a smudge of lipstick. "All safe." He nudged her toward the bar. "I'll head off." He nodded to the back door then wiped his swollen lips with his wrist.

"Night." She tore her eyes away and headed through to her blasted customers.

* * *

He showed up the next afternoon for a late sandwich and hung about till everyone else had returned to work.

"How are you feet?" Assumpta asked, noticing they were finally alone. "Up to a walk?"

"Sure, aren't I walking on a cloud?"

She laughed at him. "I'll get fionn. You lock up the front." She handed him the keys.

They were nearly out of sight when he took her hand. She immediately slipped free and darted around the other side – wrong hand.

"Still sore then?" He watched her.

"Oh, you know."

He nodded. "This is the one I need." He held up her left hand. "Do you have it?"

She pulled her hand free to get the ring bag from her pocket.

"Come, sit." He moved over to some larger stones by the bank and she followed, struggling with her bandaged hand and the drawstring. "Let me." He held out his hand.

She gave it to him and he opened it easily, tipping the ring out into his palm. She watched him, a bit jealous. He'd been walking slowly but he seemed back to normal, pretty much, minus the collar and the pretences She didn't feel like normal. She felt like she was at the brink, close to the edge, too much of the time. Her feet hurt, her hand seemed to get in the way of everything, she was always tired.

He slipped the ring on her finger then looked into her eyes, smiling his big goofy grin. She put her hand to his cheek, leaned in and kissed him. "I love you."

He leaned in again, one kiss not being quite enough, then put his arms around her, breaking the kiss to pull her closer. "I love you. Are you alright?"

"Just tired." She sat back on her rock and looked at him. "You seem better."

"I'm getting there. I'm sleeping more than I was, which helps. Does it fit?"

She looked down at the ring on her hand, a single diamond, probably less than half a carat, set in a simple gold band. It was perfect. She nodded and took his hand.

"I was wondering." He said, looking out at the river.

"Yeah?"

"I know it's not likely, given – well, everything – but did you look into an annulment?"

If she had considered it she'd dismissed the possibility immediately. "I don't think it's possible."

He nodded.

"You want to marry in the church." she wasn't posing a question but he nodded. She floundered for an explanation. "I didn't, I mean I hadn't thought of it seriously. I don't know all the rules, but I'm pretty sure we wouldn't qualify."

"Oh." He clearly didn't want the details and she had no great desire to discuss the dirty details of her relationship with Leo, or even think about them for that matter.

"I'll look it up." She said, by way of compromise. She felt awful. It was impossible, she was almost certain.

"It's fine. I mean, it doesn't make any difference in the end." He shrugged.

"Isn't that exactly when it makes a difference – in the end?"

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant."

"I'm not angry at you."

"Really? I am – angry at me, I mean. And a little bit at you, but mostly at me."

After a silence Peter spoke. "Does Leo know?"

She shook her head. "But I need to call him. It'd be better if he heard it from me – give him someone to yell at."

"I'd hazard a guess he might have something to say to me as well."

"Well he'll just have to pass on a message. You're not fighting Leo."

"What, you think I'd be the worse off?"

"Do they do boxing at seminary?"

"Not officially. But you know how fond I am of everything that fits under the category 'unofficial'."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"It's hardly news."

"Perhaps not, but I'm glad to hear it anyway. I miss you over at Niamh's. I never had you, but I miss you."

"I know what you mean. It was a lot easier to keep my distance before. Don't get me wrong, it was hell. But it was easier."

"Ah, well as long as you're as miserable as I am."

He cupped her cheek in his hand. "You told me just three days ago that you weren't miserable."

"Oh, and that you remember." He was close and words were getting them nowhere, so she kissed him, breathing him in, prompting his mouth open against hers.

He lay back on the damp bank and she went willingly with him, the length of her body fitting snug against his side. He rolled to face her, his knee resting between hers, his mouth seeking hers again.

She tugged him closer and if he resisted full contact he didn't manage it for long. He had one hand in her hair, ensuring he could continue to kiss her thoroughly, and the other worked a firm stroke up and down her back as if kneading them slowly but surely together. She felt him harden against her stomach, suddenly all the more aware of her own blissful, welling tension.

They could hardly do this here, not quite in plain sight but far from private.

They couldn't do this if he might regret it.

She stilled, not pushing him away, but stopping. She pressed her face into his shoulder. "I don't want you to regret this." She spoke when he too had stopped moving.

After a silence he thanked her.

They walked back hand in hand. Peter went to pull his hand free as they got close to town but she held it tight. If he hadn't smiled at that she'd have probably given it up before passing Hendley's, but he virtually shone and Assumpta thrilled to see it. The cat was out of the bag, no point pretending otherwise.


	8. Chapter 8

He'd watched Niamh do it a hundred times but now it was Peter's turn to be ushered back to the kitchen, a guest, not a customer. He pulled out a chair at the table.

"Make yourself at home." Assumpta closed the door to the pub.

"Oh, sorry."

"No." She pulled out the opposite chair. "I'm serious, feet up, go on."

He laughed and did as he was told, watching her put the kettle on. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I got a little carried away."

She sighed and turned to him. "You don't need to apologise. It takes two – and anyway, we didn't do anything wrong. Not even by those standards of yours."

He looked down at his hands.

"Do I need to apologise?" She watched him cautiously. This was inevitably going to be a point of contention.

"No." He looked her in the eye. "No. Not at all."

"But you do?" She poured the water into a teapot. "You're going to confess every kiss?"

"No."

"But you are going to confess – and to Father Mac." She was realising it and saying it aloud at the same time. She turned away from him, watching the steam from the tea condense on the window pane, then disappear. "Confess what, Peter? Coveting thy neighbour's wife?"

"Something like that."

His tone surprised her and she looked over at him. "You haven't been yet? Since..."

"No." He saw her wince, carrying the tea pot with the wrong hand. "Let me." He took it and poured. Putting it down on the table, he reached for her hand.

"I'm fine – well, aside from the elevated levels of exasperation."

"Feel free to blame me." He didn't let her pull her hand away.

"Oh, I do."

"It shouldn't be red like this." He pointed to the edge of the dressing.

"What, are you a healer now?"

"I'm going to see Michael this morning. Come with me. I need a lift anyway." He smiled, cheeky and daring.

"Why are you going to see Michael?" In her concern everything else was forgotten.

"Change of bandages, check my heart's still beating, you know the drill."

"I can vouch for your heart."

He grinned. "I don't regret it, you know."

"Then how can you beg forgiveness? Is this lust?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's me. It's anger. It's what's in my head. And it's a fine line."

She nodded, trying to understand and trying to let it go.

"My appointment's at eleven. Come with me." He knew she'd refuse. "Do it for me."

"Add it to the list." She lifted her tea in something like agreement.

* * *

The doctor greeted them with happy surprise. "Everything alright?"

"Peter's convinced I'm gangrenous." Assumpta went straight in and took a seat.

Michael looked to Peter, who shook his head.

"Age before beauty eh?" Doc Ryan patted the bed and Peter sat. He removed his shoes, somewhat gingerly, and then lay down, unbuttoning his shirt.

Once he was hooked up to the heart monitor, Michael undressed his feet. Assumpta couldn't keep from watching. The words fell from her lips, "Oh my god. Peter-"

"It's not as bad as it looks." Michael sat at the end of the bed, cleaning the wounds. "The dead skin works as a layer of protection for the new skin growing beneath. This is healing well."

Assumpta shook her head and went to look out the window, guilt oppressive on her shoulders. This was her fault. He put on such a brave face but that had to be killing him.

"Right. Let's see this hand." Michael beckoned Assumpta back to her seat. He removed the bandage, an inscrutable expression on his face. "Well, gangrene is a ways off yet but this is infected." While he cleaned and dressed the wound she nodded along to his lecture about keeping it dry. "Forgive my presumption," he suddenly changed tack, "but if you like I can give you a prescription for Norimin. You've not had an issue with it in the past so it's not a problem."

Assumpta glanced over at Peter, still hooked up to the heart monitor. She couldn't tell if he realised the doctor was offering her contraception. She gave Michael a little nod.

"Then you have it if you want it." He quickly scrawled out another script, then tore several off the pad and gave the top two to Assumpta, the others to Peter. "That'll do." He had a look at the read out from the heart monitor. "I'll see you again in three days."

Assumpta was ready to leave.

"Everything alright?" Peter followed her out.

"It's a contraceptive." She got in the van.

He went to the passenger seat and took the prescription from her hand so she could start the car.

"I can pick it up when I get these. I'm going into Cilldargen tomorrow anyway."

"You don't need to do that." Assumpta let the car idle.

"Do you want it?"

"It's not just about what I want."

"Okay."

She drove out onto the road and they were well on their way back to Fitzgerald's when he spoke again."

"This is only one of numerous things you and I are going to disagree on. We don't need to fight about every single one of them."

"Who's fighting?"

He smiled. "I love you."

She turned off the road and parked the car down near the river. He leaned over to kiss her before she'd even undone her seatbelt. It slid free between them and she arched up to meet him. He put his knee on the seat, keeping his weight off her but she longed for it. She reached for the lever and lowered the seat, pulling him down. He readily complied, kissing her throat and working his way up to that spot beneath her ear that he'd discovered in Niamh's kitchen. She ran her hands down his back to his belt, then around to the sides of his body, and up his chest, pushing him back just far enough to see his face.

He looked at her for a moment but couldn't hold back, kissing her mouth again. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down, lifting her hips to meet his, which seemed to inspire another foray down her neck. He pushed the fabric of her tshirt down over her shoulder and kissed the new-exposed skin, then stopped, resting his head there.

"Please don't apologise." She begged.

He looked up at her, shook his head, then pressed a kiss to the curve of her breast. "I was a fool."

"No you weren't."

"To think I could live without you."

"Oh, that, well." She smiled, caressed his cheek, watched, longing to understand him. "Do you want to wait?"

"Right now?" He smiled and shook his head. "But in theory?" He sighed.

"I don't want you to regret anything." She ran her hand down his neck, the back of her fingers against the hollow of his throat so often hidden beneath a collar.

"You don't want me to confess anything."

"That too."

"Do you want to wait?"

"No." She didn't even pause to think about it. "But I will, if that's what you want."

He hauled himself off her and returned to his seat. "Divorce in Ireland takes, what, years?"

She hesitated, then nodded, "But we got married in England. I've filed for divorce there so-" She shrugged.

He nodded.

"I will talk to Leo, about-" She didn't say _annulment_. It seemed like jinxing it. "I keep putting it off. But what about you? When will you be free?"

He sighed, shrugged. "I don't want to wait months and months. I want to be with you. We've wasted enough time. I almost lost you."

"What? You were the one out to it on the cellar floor, not me."

"My point is-"

"I know." She wound up the seat and turned to him. "Blame me if you like."

"Oh, I will." He grinned.

"How about," she began, already regretting what she was going to say, "we wait until we know how long we have to wait?"

He thought for a second then nodded. "Okay. An informed decision."

"And about that-" she nodded to the scripts on the dash.

"If it were only up to me," Peter gathered the pages into a neat pile, folded them and put them in his pocket, "then I'd say no. But in this instance, I think, it should be your call."

She watched him, nodding despite her concerns. "Okay, get them then." She started the car. "Do you really think it's the same... kettle of fish as an having an abortion?"

"No."

"Perhaps it'd be simpler if you gave me a list of the teachings of the catholic church you do hold to." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just..."

"No, you're right. To think I was a catholic priest."

"You still are."

"Don't remind me."

"Perhaps I'd better." She looked over at him, eyebrows up, "It's more effective than the pill."

He laughed, "Hardly."

"What?"

"I mean, in general, I get an awful lot less attention if I leave the collar at home."

"Seriously?"

"It can't come as that much of a surprise."

"Well, no, I suppose not." She pulled out onto the road. "You know that wasn't it for me, right?"

"There isn't a doubt in my mind." He almost laughed.

Well then, that was something. They were back at Fitzgerald's already. She parked the car and turned to him. "I'd better make that phone call."

"If he needs someone to hit - call it my penance."

"I don't give penance. Neither does Leo." She got out of the car.

"I know, I know. That's my job." He followed her lead but nodded toward the Garda house, indicating his heading.

"Not any more."

"Even Father Mac wouldn't recommend six our fathers and a sound whipping."

"No matter how sorely tempted." Assumpta bit her lip rather than kiss him, held her hands together to keep from reaching out for him. "Till tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'd better." He looked grim, missing her already, and turned away.


	9. Chapter 9

Perhaps it had been inevitable, but Assumpta was still surprised at how badly Leo took it. Thankfully, she was busy in the pub all evening and then – miraculously – slept. Perhaps Peter was praying for her. The thought was a strange one – strange in that it was the first time she'd thought of it, and strange that she was suddenly certain he did, or had, at one time or another. She hated to think this whole business would permanently damage his faith. She couldn't be responsible for that.

She spent most of the following day re-living the awful conversation with Leo or, alternately, worrying about Peter having a great moral dilemma at the pharmacy counter.

And then, as if she needed some other distraction, the lights went out. She let out a barbaric yawp and then threw out her customers, who willingly left the apparently mad woman alone.

"What can I do you for?" Padraig asked, seeing her approach, and kept on fiddling with something under the hood of Peter's car.

"My lights are out again."

"Ah, well, it was only a matter of time."

"What do I do?"

"Nothing unless you've a death wish." He was taken aback by the look on her face. "I'll have another look."

"Thanks. Any hope for this thing?" She patted the wing mirror of Peter's car.

"It's too early to say."

"What's it worth?"

"Not enough to pay for your electrics."

"Not that it's mine to sell."

"Oh, I'd say it is."

She began to debate it but Padraig called her attention to something behind her: Leo. She closed her eyes as if she couldn't take it all in, and opened them hoping he'd have vanished.

"Afternoon Padraig." Leo said, walking toward them.

"Leo." Padraig got suddenly enthralled in Peter's alternator.

"What are you doing here?" Assumpta said without pretence.

"Oh that's a nice welcome for your husband."

"Come on." She marched straight over the road and into the pub.

Leo followed, reached over to turn on the lights. "Ah, 'Sumpta."

"I'm aware."

"It'll just be a fuse. I'll take a look at it if you like."

She rounded on him. "Why are you here?"

"Oh that's nice. I just offered-"

"There was an accident, okay? It's a miracle no one was killed."

"What, with your fuse box?"

She just nodded. "Leo, there's nothing more to say. I'm sorry alright? I shouldn't have asked."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"I _am_ really sorry."

"Ah, well then, that makes it all better."

She took a deep breath. "Why are you here?"

"Closure." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Where is he?"

"Not here."

"What happened to your hand? I didn't take him for the type."

She turned away. He was well within his rights to be angry but what was she supposed to do, stand there with her mouth stapled shut.

"Sparks fly, do they?"

"Leo, stop."

"No. What happened to your hand?"

She realised he was genuinely concerned. "A prehistoric fuse happened."

"What?"

"I was trying to fix it for about the hundredth time, I was careless."

"It's a miracle you're alive."

"Yeah, well."

Peter chose this moment to let himself in the back door, announcing to the dull house, "Some for you, some for me." He plonked two pharmacy bags on the kitchen table. "We've got your standard burn care holiday package, a lifetime supply of rubber gloves, and one dish-washing volunteer, plus you're pick of contraband." He spun theatrically, holding up a snickers bar in one hand and in the other a thankfully-nondescript pill box. "Leo!"

"Well aren't you the happiest damn priest in all the land." Leo eyed him. "Wonder why."

Peter put the chocolate and contraceptives down and walked out to the bar, utterly resigned to his fate.

"Stop." Assumpta walked over to the gap in the bar, blocking their path to each other. "This is not going to help." She glared at Peter.

"Worth a try though." Leo pushed up his sleeves.

Assumpta walked up to him, took his hands, looking him in the eye and really close. "He took the shock. That's why I'm alive."

"What?" His eyes shot into her – how dare she pull this? Knowing how he felt about her, playing him.

"Did you ever grab an electric fence for a gag?" She asked him.

"Sure." He said, then understanding dawned. "You saved her?"

"He's not well." Assumpta said.

"I'm fine." Peter came out from behind the bar.

"Hardly a willing act of heroism, unless you're faster than lightening."

"Just dumb luck." Peter steeled himself for the blow.

"Not an act of God, Father?"

"Just get it over with, Leo." Peter said.

"What? No." Assumpta moved in-between them again.

Leo pulled her aside with one hand and caught Peter in the jaw with the other, knocking him back a step. Peter took a deep breath but just stood there.

"Turning the other cheek? Would you look at that?" Leo smacked him again.

This time Peter stumbled back into the table.

Assumpta grabbed Leo's arm and pulled him away. "Get out! I'm serious Leo. You've no idea."

"Oh, I've an idea." Leo shook her off and went for Peter again. But he stepped back after that, shaking his hand, satisfied that the priest was prone on the floor.

Assumpta knew that any expression of concern for Peter would only further enrage Leo. She watched them, one then the other. It seemed to be over. "Okay?"

Leo glared at Peter.

Peter tried to get up.

"That's enough." Assumpta opened the door. "You got to hit him, you got your penance, it's done."

Leo didn't budge.

"I'll walk you to the car." Assumpta pleaded with him.

Leo moved to the door, satisfied, in some small way at least, that he wasn't leaving them alone together – not yet. He turned back to Peter, pathetic on the ground. "I asked you. I asked."

"I didn't plan this."

"Just dumb luck, eh?" Leo stepped out, but didn't go any further till Assumpta was at his side. "Your hero is a martyr, you know that?"

"This didn't happen because of the electric shock, Leo."

"No, this has been going on for ages."

"Nothing happened."

"That's reassuring to hear, from the honest, forthright woman we all know as Assumpta Fitzgerald." He stopped at the car.

"Believe what you want, Leo."

"Then tell me the truth."

"What do you want to know?"

"When?"

She sighed. "Less than ten days ago."

He breathed heavy through his nose. "And _when_?"

"I don't know Leo. A long time ago, alright?"

"Before you married me?" Her nod was barely perceptible but he saw it. "Why?"

"I thought we could make it work. It had before. I thought I could, by sheer force of will, change the way I felt. I didn't want to-" she gritted her teeth, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"So, what, I'm supposed to feel sorry for you now?"

"No."

"Wishing you'd never married me isn't quite the same thing as never marrying me. We're not getting it annulled."

"I understand."

"Have a nice life." He got in the car.

She let him drive off, just standing there, then suddenly remembered Peter and ran back to the pub. He was helping himself to a pint.

"Does that go well with the taste of blood?" Her concern vanished, leaving anger in its wake.

"I'll let you know."

"What the hell?" She slammed the door behind her, shutting them up in the dark pub.

He ignored her and sipped at the head of his beer.

"You sanctimonious, arrogant block! How dare you?"

"What? He hit me."

"And you just stood there – or lay there."

"I did try to get up."

"What? To sacrifice yourself again? Get out." She knocked the drink right out of his hand and the glass smashed on the floor.

Peter gaped.

"Just go." Her voice wavered.

He nodded, went to the door and paused on the threshold. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Something. You were supposed to do _something_."

He deflated. "Today, or a year ago?"

She glared at him till he left then started on the broken glass. He was right. She was angry at him for what had happened a year ago, for telling her they'd never be more to each other than what they were – a year ago. She was angry at him for going on retreat, for letting her go.

She couldn't see well enough to be certain she'd cleaned it all up. She couldn't do a proper job of it without getting the dressing on her hand wet. She went through to the kitchen. There on the table were the bags from the pharmacy, the Norimin box, the chocolate bar. Damn it.

* * *

ps. Lovely reviews. Thanks :) But I'm thinking of holding the next chapter hostage until someone else starts updating their narrative-left-hanging... you know who you are. And there's more than one of you. Goodness, as if the actual series wasn't frustrating enough. I'm travelling this weekend so I'll post when I can. It's not pre-written. I'm coming off finishing a novel so I'm writing about the same as normal, but it's wonderful to have an instant audience, and an appreciative one at that.

pps. ah, go on, if you're lucky I'll put up the next chapter before we leave.


	10. Chapter 10

Assumpta was far from calm and an audience would hardly make matters better. She needed to wait before going over to see him, but that bag of Peter's things on the kitchen table nagged at her.

Without lights she couldn't open the pub. There was nothing to do, nothing to kill time or expend energy on. No place to hide from the ugly truth: this was _her_ fault. She'd chosen to marry Leo, knowing full well she loved someone else. She'd hurt them both, and herself no less. But she was the only one who deserved it.

She wiped here eyes and grabbed the bag. Enough waiting. She marched straight over to the Garda house.

Niamh answered the door. "What happened?"

Assumpta looked up the empty street. "Leo. And everything else. Is he here?"

"Ambrose took him to see the Doc."

Assumpta gripped the door frame. It was too much.

"He wouldn't let Ambrose write him up – so that's something." Niamh took Assumpta's hand and hauled her through to the kitchen. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need to tell him – oh, God."

"He'll be fine. He's nigh indestructible, apparently." Niamh pulled out two chairs at her kitchen table and went to fill the kettle.

"He's an idiot." Assumpta said, "But I'm worse."

"You all as mad as mad can be, but you'll get through it."

"Will we?"

"You'd better. He gave up the priesthood for you."

"No pressure." Assumpta rested her head on her hands.

"Sorry," Niamh stepped toward her then stopped, "And I'm sorry I pushed you into it – into Leo."

"It's not your fault, Niamh."

"I know, but I did push."

"You were just trying to help."

Assumpta looked up at her. "Do you have anything stronger than tea?"

"No, but you do. I'll get Kiaran."

"My power's out."

"Oh no. No hope for it?"

"Nope. We're fresh out of hope."

"I've got brandy."

"Sounds good to me."

Fortunately, Ambrose and Peter got back before they'd finished the bottle.

"Kiaran needs a walk." Niamh bundled Ambrose out the door and within minutes of his return, Peter was left alone in the kitchen with Assumpta. She looked at his bruised face but didn't feel she had the right to approach him.

"I think you might need this more than me." She topped up her glass.

He shook his head and then closed his eyes, as if shaking his head was a bad idea. "I'm sorry, Assumpta."

"What?" It came out more fiercely than she meant it.

"What now?" Confused, angry, his eyes flared.

"No – no, it's me. It's my fault. All of it." She ushered him to a chair. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Not really. But you were right. I should have done something. Not today, perhaps, but a year ago. I shouldn't have let you think I didn't love you."

"And I shouldn't have let you think that I didn't. God, Peter, you're a mess." She fingered his cheek.

He laughed. "Not at me best, no."

"Sure, haven't you been worse after a half-decent game of football?"

"It's true." He pulled her over to sit on his knee, rested his head on her shoulder. "Speaking of firsts, I went to confession with contraception today. I thought it was better to do it that way than pop into confession en route to the pharmacy."

She hugged him tight, aching with love for him.

"Don't worry. I didn't tell." He reached for the table, a meagre attempt to hold steady his own weight as well as hers.

"Come on, you need to lie down." She stood and helped him up the stairs.

"Sorry, I left the necessary on your kitchen table."

"They don't have instant effect. It's going to be a steep learning curve, isn't it?"

"I meant the chocolates. They'll have to do, I'm afraid. I don't think I'll be of any use to you tonight."

"God, if only Niamh and Ambrose would leave us alone when we could actually take advantage."

She pulled back the covers and he lay down. Taking off his shoes, she sat beside him.

He propped himself up on the pillows. "What happened to waiting till we long how wait we have to know? I mean-"

She smiled, holding her hand to his lips, then brushing the back of her fingers across his cheek. "An annulment is off the cards."

"I guessed as much."

"Not that we know how long divorce will take – or your thing. So, basically, we still don't know."

"Except that it's too long."

She nodded. "Are you allowed to go to sleep? What did Doc Ryan say?"

"I have to wait an hour."

"What am I going to do to keep you awake for an hour?"

"You've been keeping me awake at night for months."

She shook her head. "Alright, truth for truth." She turned mischievous. "I always wondered, did you let in what's-his-name's goal in that football match?"

"What? No. Do you know me at all?"

"Fine. Your turn."

He looked at her for a long moment. "When did you know?"

"When did I know – oh, that I was in love with you? About the time I barred you. Go figure."

He stopped, marvelled. "That's a long time ago."

"I'm a quick learner."

"You finally got your answer to the question you asked me that night."

"I'd say I got my answer that night. I just didn't want to hear it."

"I did want you then."

"But not as much as the priesthood – alright," she took a deep breath. "My turn. Did you ever consider- and I mean even consider," she looked him in the eye and spoke quick, "having your cake and eating it."

"What do you take me for?"

"Peter-"

"Of course I did."

"Oh."

He smiled because he'd got her, and then confessed, "That very night."

"You knew I meant you?"

"No. I hoped. So many times."

"And after Leo?"

He gave her a look.

"Sorry, I shouldn't push – again. Anyway, it's your turn isn't it?"

"Don't you need to get back to the pub?"

"No lights. Didn't you notice? It's a miracle Leo didn't miss."

"I didn't notice, no. I should have ducked."

"You should have stayed behind the bar."

"He'd have jumped it."

"There'd have been a lot more broken glass."

He leaned back on the pillows looking pained, the cause of which could be any number of things.

"Have you forgiven me?" Her quiet voice seemed loud in the empty house.

He didn't answer.

She watched him closely. He wasn't sleeping. She put her head down on his chest and said, "I haven't. Forgiven myself, I mean. Perhaps I need six Our Fathers and a sound whipping."

He wrapped his arms around her. "I have forgiven you, couple of times."

"Yeah?"

"And I'll do it a couple of times more – for as long as we both shall live."

"Damn it, Peter."

He brushed his fingers through her hair. "I thought of another question."

"Go on." She spread her hand out over the centre of his chest, relishing the rhythmic thud of his heart.

"I don't want to make you angry."

"You've used up your daily quota. Go on."

"Alright. When did you stop believing?"

She sat up. "In God? I didn't – not in the big picture, something out there, sense of it."

"Oh." He nodded, clearly wanting to ask for more but not daring.

"I bought into all of it when I was a kid. I mean, here? How could I not? I guess it was when I was a teenager when things, well, bit by bit it just fell away. And then I was proud of myself, quite the rebel, what was it you said? I was an activist. There was plenty to point the finger at – and I know you know what I mean. Only it bothered me more. I didn't want a bar of it, baby or bathwater." She sighed. "But more recently, I don't know. Knowing you makes it impossible not to reconsider."

"Really?"

"Don't get too excited." She pressed her hand more firmly against his chest. "It's not good for your heart."

* * *

A/N: I might pop this over into the M-basket before it's necessary, so as not to give the game away.


	11. Chapter 11

"We're closed!" Assumpta called out with her mouthful of cereal.

"I know." Peter yelled back.

She indulged in a full grin, then went to let him in. Not wanting him to get too full of himself, she flicked the lock and let him do the rest. He followed her through to the kitchen.

"I have a confession to make." He took hold of the back of a chair.

"I told you," she resumed her seat, "we're not open."

"I may have mentioned," he rocked on his feet, "under strictest confidence, but nonetheless – I told Mark, before he left, that you and I are going to get married."

She picked up her spoon, hardly surprised.

"And he may have mentioned it to Andy."

"Who told Di, and now your entire family know?"

He looked about ready to take another punch.

She took a mouthful of cereal and pushed the box across the table toward him. "Why else does a priest quit his job? Milk's in the fridge. Finish it before it walks out, will you?"

He did as he was told. Sitting opposite her with his cereal turning soggy, he went on. "That wasn't everything."

"Isn't it too early for this?"

"Mum left us some money – not much." He hesitated. "And it's to be split evenly, between everyone – grandkids, everyone."

"You want to take me out for a nice meal? Ah, it's about time."

He quirked a smile but that wasn't it. "Mark and Andy are pretty well set up so," he was talking as if he was breaking bad news, "they want to give us their share – as a wedding present."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, looking at him like a puzzle – with a piece missing.

"They don't want me near your electrics again." He aimed for a joke and missed.

"It's enough for that?" She daren't believe it.

He nodded.

"But we – there won't be a wedding for... months." She didn't add 'at least'.

"The money's in my account."

She put down her spoon. It took a minute to digest.

He leaned forward onto the table. "I know you don't want to take – um, well, just consider: I'm not bringing much to the table here, am I? You've a property, a business, and I? I've a perfectly serviceable ruck sack, and, ah, no that's it. Half my wardrobe is fast going out of style – for me at least."

"When did style stop you?"

"I've got so little to offer, Assumpta. Let me do this."

"I can call an electrician today?"

He nodded.

"Of course I'll take it! Are you kidding me? No – you are kidding me. So little to offer?"

"Practically speaking. I mean I'm qualified to do what? In fact, it's a good thing I've that rucksack because we'll need it if we ever want to go on holiday. My car doesn't even run."

"Trade it in for a tent. We'll call it the honeymoon fund."

He grinned.

She put her hand over her mouth, still hardly believing, "We can get the electrics done. Oh my god."

"We?"

"Oh, you think I'm letting you go now?"

"What? You'll make me partner?"

"Easy there."

He laughed.

"You don't know how incredible this is. I don't know what to say."

He shrugged. "We'll send Mark and Andy postcards from the camping ground."

She was far too close to tears of relief and joy and every other emotion going.

"What?" He stood and put their empty bowls in the sink.

She shook her head. "What are you doing today?"

"I don't know. What am I doing today?"

"You're a free man. What do you want to do?"

He leaned back on the bench, eyes fixed on Assumpta. It wouldn't often be like this. The pub was rarely closed and with any luck would be open again before the end of the week. They might not have many days entirely to themselves, but they'd have many, many days. In that moment their future stretched out before him with all its possibilities. And it started today. "Summit a mountain." He said at last.

She stood up, nodding and approached him. "You'd better be speaking figuratively."

"With the state of our feet?"

"And your face."

"Oh, I don't know, a little fresh air might be just the thing. Unless you want to try kissing it better."

"You'd be lucky." It was her automatic response.

"No doubt about it."

She reached up and kissed his bruised chin, then stayed close, barely touching him. "Are you nervous?"

His hands danced around her hips, the hem of her shirt. He nodded but held eye contact. "Are you?"

She thought for a moment. "No."

He breathed out. "I'm just guessing, but I might be easier to please."

She smiled. "Maybe, but that's just biology. Don't worry, I'm a card carrying realist."

"Good good."

"Maybe a mountaintop isn't a bad idea – keep everything in perspective."

His warm fingers traced up her spine, beneath her shirt.

"I do have a perfectly comfortable bed, just upstairs."

"Assumpta-" he kissed her forehead.

"Should I shut up now?"

He shook his head, "Just don't take it the wrong way if I interrupt you occasionally." He kissed her mouth too briefly, then her neck, a now-mastered art. He was a quick learner, no denying it.

He stopped, levelled with her. "Go on." He challenged her to keep talking.

"When did you get so good at that?

He smiled and went back to her neck. She ran her hands up under his shirt and then pulled it off over his head, only to be confronted by the yellowing bruise on his arm. It would fade but she dreaded forgetting how close they'd come to missing out on all of this. She pressed her cheek to his chest, inhaling deep at the sensation of his hand spreading wide across her belly. She wanted more contact and unbuttoned her own shirt. He breathed out a low groan at the silky heat and slip of skin on skin. She pulled her bra out of the way and went back for more.

He inhaled as if singed.

"Okay?" She pulled away just far enough to see him and feared for a moment that this was too much, too fast. But he lifted his hand to her breast, then leaned in pressing kisses to her shoulder, her neck, throat and finally caught up with his hand. He rested there as if catching his breath, each ragged exhalation teasing her skin, sending arcs of sensation through her body, each pulse both blissful and infuriating.

"I'm so close." He said.

She nodded and made quick work of removing the rest of her clothes.

"This is hardly helping." He stared at her in awe.

"That depends," she undid his belt, "on your definition of helping."

"I don't want this to be over in just a few minutes." He took her hands off his pants and finished taking off his clothes himself.

"It won't be." She looked him in the eye, trying to be understood. He looked unconvinced. She tried again, "Even if it is, it won't be." She pressed herself against him, all that pure, bare sensation near-overwhelming. He rocked on his feet, balance wavering. She pulled him down to sit on the floor. She leaned over him, close, looking into his wide eyes, willing him to just relax. He ran his hands down her body, reaching for her thighs.

She kissed his mouth and lifted her knee, grazing up the hard length of him.

"Oh-" he groaned, alarmed.

"Breath." She straddled him, barely touching. "Just enjoy it."

He closed his eyes at the first touch. She struggled to reign in control of herself. His pull on her thighs was too much. She sunk down onto him. Both shocked, they stopped.

He looked up at her and she felt it begin. Lifting herself, she gave him everything, looking right into his eyes almost throughout. He tried, struggled to keep his eyes open. She slowed as he recovered, but she was so close now. He lifted himself to reach her, pressed his face to her breast, his abdomen clenching against her. Her moan was clue enough. He pulled her harder against him. She arched back and crested the wave, coming down in shudders, pushing him back till she lay on top of him in the pale morning light.

He lifted her head so as to kiss her – one firm, clumsy inhalation, the one of the other.

"I see what you mean." He said, pushing into her again.

"Yeah?" She could barely see through the haze yet.

"It's not over."

She rested her forehead on his. "I'm all yours."

He skimmed his hands up the sides of her body, then firm down, taking in every curve, moving her against him. He came fast, gripping her so fiercely she wondered if he'd leave a mark. Not that she'd begrudge any proof that this wasn't all a dream. She stroked his face and kissed him as he came out of it.

They lay there in silence, this new reality still difficult to believe.

She sighed, propping herself up on her elbow, so as to see him. 'I take you," she smiled, "Peter Clifford."

He grinned. "On the kitchen floor."

She held his gaze. "For so long as we both shall live."

He brushed the hair back from her face. "And I take you-"

"To bliss." She interrupted.

He glowed, "And to be my wife."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"I didn't hear any objections."

She laughed and sat up. "I won't tell if you won't." She reached for her shirt, pulling on the sleeves. "Are you cold there?"

He shook his head and sat up. "Not cold." Slipping his hand up under her half-open shirt, he thumbed the underside of her breast. "Bit naked though."

She put her hand to his calf muscle, trailed her fingers all the way up his leg, up his chest, leaning forward to embrace him, too terrified to speak. This was a big step for him – for them both, but she'd never regret it. He might.

"I'll get used to it." He slid his hand down over her hip, between her thighs. "Bit of practise."

The rush of relief made her hold him fiercely. He had plans to practise – he couldn't regret it. She hadn't realised the strength of her fear, but he'd surprised her again.

"Are you alright?" He stopped his tentative exploration and pried her back.

She nodded, "I'm fine. I'll get used to it." She kissed him. "Bit of practise."

He resumed drawing warm lines up and down her thigh. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me." He pressed he fingertips inside.

"Gentle." She instructed.

"Like this?"

She took a deep breath, tense and welling again. Speech seemed an awful lot of work. She nodded.

"Or not at all," he trailed his fingers down her thigh and back up but not all the way – not far enough. :Tell me."

She turned on him, "My, you do corrupt quick." She immediately regretted the words but he smiled, knowing better than to take offence.

"Tell me."

She pressed her lips together, searched his eyes, "You don't feel... guilt, or regret?"

"No." He answered without pause.

"Yet." She supplied.

"Assumpta," he delved inside and her breath caught, "how could I ever regret this?"

"You're a marvel."

He pulled out and ran his fingers up over her stomach, between her breasts. "You-" his voice faltered. He shook his head in wonder. "I don't even know how to tell you how much I love you."

"I'm getting the picture. You're giving up everything."

"I don't know how it took me so long. I'm a slow learner."

"You're really not."

He pushed the shirt back from her shoulder and traced the line of her clavicle with his nose. "I think this is my favourite bit."

She laughed a little, sighed.

"But I've a lot to learn. Perhaps I'll find something better."

The floor was starting to feel awfully hard, though no longer cold. "Come on; bed." She started to get up, pulling him with her.

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"And he thinks he's a slow learner." She picked up her clothes and handed him his shirt.

He bent to retrieve his jeans, holding them in front of him, near-modestly. "To think – in your kitchen."

"Almost seems fitting."

"What? Why's that?"

"I was standing right here when I gave you up." She cocked her head to one side. "When you gave me up."

He nodded. "You cried." He looked to be on the verge of doing so himself.

She bit her lip. "I don't do that often."

He shook his head in agreement. "If only I'd known. I could have just done this." He only touched her lips with his, a barely-there kiss that somehow said everything.

"Just like that." She whispered. "Well, except you were dressed differently."

"I was dressed – at all."

"That'll be where we went wrong."

He smiled and kissed her again. "I loved you then – but this," he kissed her, open, hungry, familiar and whatever else he'd been going to say was better expressed in that kiss.

Breathless, aching for him, she broke away. "Uh-uh. Upstairs." She turned him around and nudged him forward, showing him the way.


	12. Chapter 12

Peter was asleep, in the nick, in her bed, in the middle of the afternoon. Assumpta could barely believe it, let alone sleep. And she didn't want to wake him. She snuck away, phoned the electricians, then returned. Rather than risk waking him, she sat at her dresser, avoiding looking at the strange creature in the mirror; the smiling lady with the bed-ruffled hair. She'd been meaning to find a chain to keep the ring on.

He woke, hearing her rifling through the jewellery box, and looked around for a bit before propping himself up on one elbow. Catching her eye in the mirror, he said, "It's odd."

She half-laughed. That was an understatement.

"No, I mean it seems strange that I've never seen your room before."

"Not so strange – considering."

"I know, but to know you so well and not to know what your room - I mean, what your own space is like."

"I never saw yours either."

"I haven't got one."

That was true. Too true. He couldn't stay with Niamh forever. He couldn't even stay with Niamh for the necessary months before they could marry. And the answer was too obvious, too simple – and impossible at the same time. Time to change the subject then. "What do you think?" Assumpta slipped the ring on a long thin chain and put it around her neck.

He pulled the sheet around his waist as he got out of bed, and sat beside her at the dresser.

"It's the longest chain I have. Just in case we want to keep it a secret." It hung down, just disappearing beneath her shirt, which was only half-buttoned-up.

"I'm not sure the ring is the problem. Who's that guy with the coat hanger in his mouth?"

She laughed.

"And she!" He went on, "She's breathtaking."

"Ah, would you ever bog off."

He held her gaze in the mirror. "Nope."

"Oh," she smiled, "alright then."

He followed the line of the chain with his thumb, undoing one button so he could putting the tip of his finger into the ring that hung there between her breasts, the stone facing down like a rose hung to dry.

She watched in the mirror, the ring circling his bare finger. "Well, since you're planning on hanging around," she nudged her things across the dresser, clearing a space, "there you go."

He tried not to show how moved he was. He slipped off his watch and put it on the dresser, careful not to scratch the surface.

"Don't worry. It's ancient."

"Yeah?"

"Great great grandma's – probably."

"I s'pose everything round here is."

She nodded. "But not all of it's sentimental. If you have anything, we'll make a space."

He smiled but shook his head. "I don't." He nudged her shirt down over her shoulder. "It'd be far too easy to accidentally move in."

She nodded. "Will you?"

"Actually, there was a desk of Mum's but I didn't have anywhere to put it." This was easier than answering her question.

"Is it too late?"

He shook his head.

"Well then."

He undid another of her buttons. "You know I want to." He stretched out his fingers, just barely brushing her breast before reaching around her side, pulling her closer. "I didn't think you'd be so willing – to share everything so soon."

"Got to keep you guessing." She watched him kiss her skin, silently swearing she'd never forget this. "Peter."

He looked up, all mischief and delight.

"This seat really isn't designed for it."

He laughed, "Right then." He stood up and got tangled in the twisted sheet.

"You know this is why they invented clothes."

"Oh, so I should get dressed now?"

She smiled. "I was only suggesting the sheet belonged on the bed."

"Of course."

"But you can go with it if you like."

* * *

She woke up starving and alone but, before panic set in, she heard something downstairs. Peter was still there. He'd leave this evening, sooner rather than later, she was sure of it.

Assumpta went to the bathroom. Her pills sat on the counter, a sobering reminder. She dressed but didn't bother with shoes. She found Peter standing over the stove, stirring something. "I could learn to live with this." She stopped in the doorway.

"Go right ahead." He turned. "It's a good thing you've gas cookers."

"No hot water though."

"Ah, a good excuse not to wash," he waved the spatula in her general direction, "not to wash you off of me."

She marvelled at him, at the situation, walked up and put her arms around him, her head resting on his back.

"I'm sure Niamh won't mind me taking a bucket-full of dishes back and borrowing her sink."

"So long as you actually go back to Niamh's, yeah, she won't mind."

"I'd better."

"I know." She sighed, let him go, and leaned on the bench beside him. "Ah, the thing is, about our, ah, contraband."

"What, you didn't save me any chocolate?"

"No. I didn't. But it's the other. Those things don't do anything, reliably at least, for a week."

"Ah." He stopped stirring."

"Not that it's likely to – ah, well, you know." She looked up at him, "Or perhaps you don't."

"Educate me." He didn't waver.

She determined to match him, courage for courage, "I don't think it's the right time of the month." She hesitated, pursing her lips. "But I'm not sure."

"Ah." He resumed stirring.

She was relieved to see him falter; so she wasn't the only one. "But if we did – well..."

He put down the spatula and turned to face her. "I know it's early days - _very_ early days."

"We might not even be married nine months from now."

"I know." He leaned toward her. "But regardless of our... circumstances, you know I'd be overjoyed, don't you?"

After a moment she nodded. She did know, absolutely. He'd be a wonderful Dad, and at some point she'd gladly be involved in the process.

"And you?" He asked, nervous.

"When I recovered from the shock," she smiled, warmer than she felt, hoping he knew she would rise to the occasion, should it be required. She'd probably be over the moon, eventually, but in the meantime - good lord it could get difficult. "Yeah, of course. But, ah, just in case it's not too late, perhaps we should try to keep our hands off each other, just till the week's out."

"We've managed it before."

She laughed. "What you making?"

"A bit of everything in your fridge."

"Oh, help yourself." Her voice dripped with her special brand of sarcasm and but he knew she meant it really.

"What was this?" He held up a plastic container, transparent enough to show that its contents didn't bear closer examination.

"What do you expect? The power's out." She shrugged.

He laughed. "For six weeks now?Do you have any honey?" He grinned, "Honey?"

"Don't you dare," she went to the pantry, "Dear." She gave him the jar of honey.

"There we go. It was chaos; now it's honey soy stir fry."

"You're a genius."

"I'm a dear."

She held her fingers above her head, like a dear, and made a silly face. Turning away, she played at setting the table, feeling like a character in someone else's life. This was too much like perfect. He was cooking dinner, for heaven's sake. He was half dressed and he was hers, and he was leaving before sun down probably. But he'd be back. And one day, he'd be back for good.


	13. Chapter 13

Even though Niamh wasn't needed at the pub, Peter volunteered for extra babysitting duty. It seemed a good deterrent to seduction, the giving or the receiving... or it might have been if Kiaran weren't so sweet. He caught himself actually hoping Assumpta was pregnant, once or twice, then gave himself a stern talking to.

Niamh invited Assumpta over to the garda house – just for dinner, but so much for avoiding temptation.

"Wires everywhere!" Niamh shook her head, "And nothing in that frigidaire can be safe to eat now." She started sorting dinner.

"Hi." Peter waved Kiaran's arm from across the kitchen.

Assumpta bit back a more substantial greeting than, "Hi," and tried not to think about that last time she'd seen him. Instead, she grabbed the cork screw and started on the bottle of wine she'd brought.

Her hand was still bothering her, Peter saw, so he handed over Kiaran and took the bottle opener. "Let me."

Niamh turned, hearing Ambrose arrive, and caught sight of the exchange. She gave Ambrose a significant look.

He nodded.

"We've a question to ask." Niamh began.

Peter and Assumpta looked up, weary at best. Assumpta quickly turned her attention back to the baby.

"Go on." Peter put down the open bottle. "While it breathes."

"We put off Kiaran's Christening," Niamh looked apologetic, "well, you know we wanted you to do it, but-"

Peter interrupted her, "I am so sorry Niamh, I..." he'd forgotten completely.

"It's alright," Ambrose gave Peter a pat on the arm. "With all that's happened, it's no wonder."

Peter went right on looking miserable.

Ambrose kept on, "We'd like you to be godparents."

Assumpta froze.

Peter gaped.

She looked to him, but spoke to Niamh and Ambrose. "That's quite a vote of confidence."

"Isn't that just what you need?" Niamh gave something on the stove a stir.

"But that's not a good reason to choose us." Peter looked from one parent to the other.

"That's not why we want you." Niamh said, "It's just a perk."

"Are you sure?" Assumpta watched her friend closely.

"If something were to happen to us, wouldn't you want to take him?"

"Of course, but-"

"And are you planning on going anywhere yourself?"

"No, but we might not have a choice."

Niamh pointed the bread knife at Ambrose. "He won't let them run you out of town."

"I'm hardly a good catholic."

"He's good enough for the both of you."

Ambrose laughed, "Ah, doesn't it rub off? Go on. Niamh already talked me into it."

Peter looked concerned. "This is an important decision."

"Which is why we won't be put off by a little thing like a scandal."

Peter looked at Assumpta, lifted his eyebrows.

She turned to Niamh. "Okay."

"Good." Ambrose pulled down the wine glasses and put them on the table beside the wine bottle. "Whenever you're ready."

Peter poured. "How's things with the electrician?" He asked Assumpta.

"Slow. Messy." She shrugged. "It's not as fun as it sounds."

"Did they say how long till you can open again?" Peter pulled out chairs for all then sat himself. Assumpta watched, almost certain he was in pain.

"Three days. Are you alright?"

Peter nodded.

Niamh tsked, "Oh, you must sit down."

Assumpta sat too, watching him. He wasn't giving anything away but she insisted he didn't walk her back to Fitzgerald's after dinner, no matter how desperate she was for any contact at all. She'd wait, and wait she did.

* * *

The grand reopening was less than grand, but all the usual suspects showed, and a few extras for good measure. Peter sat out of reach, or was it at a safe distance, with Kiaran and Ambrose. People didn't have much to say to him, but Assumpta caught wind of his name in conversations that hushed on her approach.

"What's that?" Niamh nodded to her, uncorking a bottle of wine.

"What's what?" Assumpta looked down – there, glinting from between the buttons of her shirt, was Peter's ring. She tucked it back in. "Necklace."

"Something new?"

"No." Not really. Not new from a shop, new. Just new to Assumpta.

Brendan leaned over, offering up his empty glass. "That's not the trinket you misplaced in your van?"

For possibly the first time ever Assumpta was glad to see Fr. Mac approach the bar – and with the new priest in tow, no less. "Father Aidan O'Connell, and his sister." Father Mac made the introductions.

"Orla." The blonde woman smiled wide. "I'll get the first round."

Assumpta served them but Father Mac didn't address her, "I will be christening Niamh's son, Kiaran, on Sunday. Oh, you haven't by chance come to a decision on godparents, have you?"

Before Niamh had a chance to reply Assumpta said, "Bad news, Father."

Father Mac hesitated, perhaps trying to make a positive impression on his new protégé. Then he looked around and on spotting Peter, bouncing Kiaran on his knee, he turned back to Niamh. "And the godfather?"

"Over there with the father, Father."

Father Mac gritted his teeth then put on a smile for Father O'Connell, "Let me introduce you to your predecessor.

Father O'Connell looked appropriately confused but followed obediently.

Orla looked ready to watch a show, gathered up their drinks and said, "Thanks."

Assumpta looked over, caught Peter's eye and tried to send a silent apology. She was so starved of him that even catching his eye buoyed her for a half hour, but the next time she looked he was nowhere to be seen.

"You're not making Peter do the nappies all evening as well?" She asked Niamh in a lull.

"No, he took him home to bed."

Assumpta was _too_ disappointed. The next morning he walked by with Kiaran and she actually ran out to say 'hello'.

"Sorry," Peter kept walking. "I'll do a lap and be back. He's just nodded off."

And with that he was gone. But true to his word returned in less than half an hour, wheeling a sleeping Kiaran straight through to the kitchen.

Assumpta finished serving a customer and followed him through.

"Everything okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, 'course. You?" She closed the door.

He nodded and stepped toward her then stopped. "It feels like about a month."

She smiled. "I know." She took a deep breath. "You left early the other night."

"We were both tired." Peter checked on Kiaran then, satisfied he was soundly asleep, walked over to Assumpta. "It's so strange to be able to do this." He lifted his hand to her chin then kissed her mouth, a meek and tender touch. Then he rested his forehead on hers.

"Can you stay a while?" She asked.

He nodded. "As long as the wee man's asleep."

She turned, not trusting herself. She had customers just through the door and a sleeping baby on the other side of the room. Surely one or both would keep her from doing anything rash. She could make tea. That'd keep them on task.

"Oh, before I forget," Peter began, "they want us up at St Joseph's this afternoon. Practise run."

She raised her eyebrows at that. "You need practise, do you?"

"Father Mac respectfully requests three o'clock. It is different. I've never been a godfather before."

"Wrong side of the frock."

He grinned, regarding her earnestly.

"Are you picturing me naked?" She turned to the stove.

"I am now."

She laughed.

He sighed, took a seat. "I know I've been distant. I don't know how to do this without, ah, well, I suppose in some ways I've been doing _this, _that is failing to avoid you, for years." He sighed. "But it's a bit different now."

"Now that you know your way around."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd go that far."

She laughed. "Self deprecation, is it?"

"Knowing my limits."

"Well, I've no complaints. Don't go imagining yourself into any more difficulties than we've already signed up for."

He hoped she could be honest with him, but she had a point. "Difficulties? What _are_ you on about?"

She shook her head and poured the tea. "Nothing this won't fix."

"What have you been hearing?"

"Nothing. They shut up soon as I get near 'em."

"We knew there'd be talk."

"I know." She sat beside him.

"Is it affecting business?"

"Too soon to tell." She looked him in the eye.

"We won't let it sink us."

She shook her head. "There's that unfailing optimism."

"I know, it drives you wild."

"Drives me up the wall."

"Drink your tea."

"The Englishman's answer."

"Your idea, wasn't it?"

"You're rubbing off."


	14. Chapter 14

Assumpta could feel Peter's gaze on her throughout the Christening and she was just as aware of him. They'd not had an audience like this since the night of the food fair, but in that instance she'd been distraught, oblivious to the curious crowd. Standing up together like this was as good as a public announcement and she was utterly aware of the attention.

Outside the church afterwards people milled about and Assumpta was glad of the excuse to run off and open the pub, to prepare for the party. She half-expected Peter to follow but he didn't. When he did come in he was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a yellow lightening bolt across the front.

"What do you think?" He came around behind the bar to help, which she sorely needed. "A gift from Niamh and Ambrose."

Assumpta laughed, "Not exactly, 'I survived cardiac arrest' but it'll do."

"That's what I thought." He picked up a glass and began to pour a lager.

She brushed past close behind him, pausing just long enough to murmur behind his ear. "I love you." Then, as if to underline the statement, she pressed up against his back.

He spilled a little beer.

"Don't worry." Padraig came to the bar and picked up three pints in his two hands. "You'll have plenty of time to practise now."

There were lots of 'nice shirt' comments and an air of good humour resilient even to Peter's position behind the bar. Only Father Mac look bothered.

Even Brian Quigley was in fine form. "Suits you, Peter." The name was not yet easy on his lips. "You're a lucky man."

"I am indeed."

Brian ordered something special and Peter said he'd bring it to the table.

"Good man."

Peter knelt to find the right glassware for the order and Assumpta stepped around him to pour a beer. She brushed her leg against him – on purpose, surely. It was his turn to get his own back. He pressed his fingers to the inside of her ankle, looking up to gauge her response. She glanced down for a moment, then looked back up, stoic while she poured Donal a pint.

Peter ran his hand up her leg, stopping just above her knee before making the return journey and getting back to work. It was hours later and a dozen cruel teases, before she finally closed the blue door on the world. She turned to survey the mess but Peter caught her up before she saw it at all, kissing her with a delightful new confidence. He ran his hands up her body and into her hair, and she forgot their barely departed guests, the ash trays and dishes and spills. She backed into the door, glad of something solid to keep her from falling over and taking him with her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, breathless.

She answered with another kiss. His arms went around her, arching her body against him. She slid her hands up under that ridiculous tshirt and around his back, pulling him flush against her. He staggered at the sudden full contact. She caught him look over at the nearest table, as if that were an option.

She laughed, "No way," making for the stairs. "Leave the lights on. We're doing dishes."

He caught her up, hands on her hips, driving her up the stairs and half-mad at the same time. He spun her round as soon as they were in reach of her bed, then he knelt on the floor, all of a sudden taking his time about it.

She sat up, looked him in the eye. "Haven't you don't enough waiting?"

"I thought-"

She slid off the bed and onto his lap, hands at his belt. "It's one of life's real joys and frustrations." She pulled him free, "There's no hard and fast rule about these things. Speaking of hard and fast-"

He didn't need her to say it twice, guiding her hips to meet him then giving up restraint. She wrapped her legs around him and leaned back on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open. He lost it, with such a view, but daren't break stride for fear of lessening her pleasure, which peaked soon, leaving them tangled, staring at each other, surprised, impressed and a little concerned.

"It's a miracle we made it up the stairs." Assumpta finished removing her shoes then clambered up onto the bed.

"It's a miracle we made it to closing." He made himself decent, uncertain about where to go next.

"But we did last a whole week." She lay back and lifted the covers to him.

He fell down beside her. "Only because I couldn't get you alone."

"Huh! You were avoiding the place."

"And if I hadn't been, I still couldn't have had you to myself."

"Better than nothing."

He rolled over to face her. "That's true." He kissed her shoulder by way of apology. "I didn't trust myself. Tonight I learned all new limits of self control."

She laughed. "Were you actually hiding behind the bar at one point?"

"One point? I was hardly decent all evening. And we, supposedly responsible godparents, setters of good examples?" He pulled off his socks and dropped them over the side. "But I suppose Kiaran will never know."

"I won't tell." She helped him off with the tshirt. "And anyway, if that's what Niamh and Ambrose were expecting they're even more delusional than I thought." She looped her leg through his and found her spot, nestled against his side, hand spread over the middle of his chest.

He traced up and down, following the lines of her hip. "I think this is my new favourite spot."

"Is that right?"

"Um..." He pushed her back and got up on his knees to have a proper look, kissing from her stomach down to her leg, and back up again. "Or this." He pressed his face into the underside of her breast, then lay his head down on her chest. "I can't decide."

"Tell you what," she ran her fingers through is hair, "you can have them all, and any more you discover."

He lifted his head, rubbing an indent on the side of his face where he'd laid on the ring. He picked up the offending piece of jewellery and shook his head. "Just for now," he moved up level with her and tried to unfasten the chain, fumbling it. She took over, undid the chain and handed it to him. He tipped the ring into his hand. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not."

He slipped it onto her finger, again.

"Will you stay?" She whispered, afraid of his answer, either way.

"I know that, in theory, I'm physically capable of getting up off this bed – but I just can't."

"Good. Because if you went down there right now your strong sense of – ah, what do you call it?"

"I'm not sure."

She yawned against his chest. "My point is, you'd want to tidy up before you left and then I'd feel like I had to help you."

"I'd better stay where I am then."

"Yeah, you'd better."

* * *

Assumpta opened her eyes to find Peter looking right at her.

"Are you watching me sleep? That's creepy, that is."

"In that case, no." He shook his head, still lying on the pillow. "Not at all."

It was such a strange sight to have him there. She wasn't quite up to it yet. She rolled over, turning her back to him. "Tell me right now you're not a morning person."

"Sorry, bad news."

She pulled the covers up over her head.

"S'alright." He laughed and shuffled over to lie close behind her. "Go back to sleep."

"Sure thing, easy as pie." With his hand on her stomach, his breath brushing against her neck, not likely.

He kissed the top of her back then lifted the covers over them both, right over their heads, cocooning them in the near-dark.

After a few seconds she rolled over to face him again. "You've already got up and come back to bed." She accused.

"How can you tell?"

"The smell of toothpaste."

"Oh, that, well, better than the alternative."

"Sure, but now I have to go do it."

"What? No you don't."

With a groan of frustration she threw off the covers and marched off to the bathroom. Returning, she stopped in the doorway. "Did you use my toothbrush?"

He shook his head, holding up one finger. "Wouldn't dare."

"Good."

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

"Move over you big gom." She got back in bed and covered up most of her beauty.

He gathered her up close and wriggled till they both had a bit of pillow and weren't being horribly crushed.

"Stop moving. Right now."

"I'll leave you be, if you want to go back to sleep." He offered.

She tightened her hold on him. He kissed her hair, message received.

After a few minutes she spoke up. "And now, I suppose, we face the music."

"What do you mean?"

"You think this won't get out?"

"No one knows yet."

"Niamh and Ambrose will soon, if they don't already." When he didn't answer she looked up at him.

"I'll stay till the pub opens – let everyone assume they just missed seeing me arrive."

"And perhaps no one will notice you're wearing yesterday's tshirt."

"Ah."

"Do you remember when I was thinking about moving away? I told Niamh. It wasn't even certain and I told one person, and everyone in town knew within days. Hours probably."

"I remember."

"Oh, that's right."

"Yeah." He remembered all too clearly, the disproportionate panic that had set in that week. And then he'd gone and basically declared his love for her, which she fortunately took as a platonic kind of thing, but still-

"I don't know how I didn't see it." She traced the lines on the back of his hand. "I suppose that's easy to say now."

"Didn't see what?"

"How you felt."

"I barely knew it myself. I just panicked. I suppose that should've been my first clue."

"Well, yes."

"But you knew then."

"I knew you were a priest. I suspected you felt something. I never expected you to give up the church."

"Never?"

She shook her head.

The sun was up now, lighting up the curtains, lighting up the covers. Their eyes had adjusted to the dark and, all things considered, they could see each other pretty clearly.

"I could probably pop over to Niamh's under some pretence and spin a tale, get you a fresh change of clothes."

"Part of me just wants to face the music. It's bound to happen sooner or later."

"I'm for later."

"Of course the other part of me wants to hide under your covers for the rest of the month."

"Which part of you would that be?"

His stomach gurgled right on cue.

She smiled. "Your stomach."

"Sorry. I usually get up earlier than this."

"You might want to consider a change in routine."

"No kidding."

"If you're going downstairs anyway," she pushed the covers back and let in the light, "I could do toast and jam." She watched him get out of bed and pull on some clothes. "And tea."

"I think I can manage that." He turned back to her and couldn't resist – didn't _need_ to resist. Leaning on the bed, he kissed her, eyes wide open the whole time. He lingered there, smiling.

"Get on with you." She was glowing herself.


	15. Chapter 15

Niamh opened the door, glowering.

"Morning." Assumpta put on a good show of normality.

"Good morning."

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Why? You afraid someone's going to spot you at this hour?"

"Niamh-" Assumpta gritted her teeth.

Niamh backed away from the doorway, letting her in.

Assumpta resisted the urge to make a bee-line for the guest room where she'd find Peter's things. "I just wanted to, ah, grab a couple of things for Peter."

"How could you, Assumpta?"

"What?"

"Why'd you have to – I mean couldn't you wait?"

"Wait till when exactly, Niamh?"

"Till you're both free, at the very least. He might not be a priest any more but he's still a catholic. You make him a hypocrite."

"I don't _make _him anything, and anyway, this is our private business."

"Tell that to the people of Ballykay."

"The people of Ballykay don't need to know. Which is why I'm here." She marched off in the direction of the spare room.

Niamh followed. "You want to keep it a secret?"

"What I want is not exactly an option, is it?" Assumpta unzipped Peter's rucksack.

"What's that?"

Assumpta followed Niamh's gaze – the engagement ring was still on her finger. There was no talking her way out of this one. She sat down on the bed and pulled the bag over, holding it between her feet as she searched for an appropriate shirt. "What does it look like?"

"You're engaged?"

"Oh, so we're forgiven now?"

"You never said."

Assumpta pulled out a shirt. She'd been meaning to find him other items as well but they seemed rather too intimate to pull out in front of Niamh.

"You never said about anything though, did you?"

Assumpta looked at her. "What would you have said, if I had told you."

"I don't know."

"Well, aren't you glad I didn't put you in that awkward position."

"You're my best friend."

"Well he's mine." The words flew from her lips.

Niamh stood up, shot Assumpta a look, and then left. Assumpta knew the way out. She hid the clothes beneath her jacket and walked back to the pub. Peter was in the kitchen, drying the last of the dishes, topless.

He looked up, smiled on seeing her. "For a minute then I thought I was busted."

She smiled but barely, and held out a fresh shirt.

"Thanks. What did Niamh say?"

Assumpta looked at the puddling water on the bench, then back to him. "Am I making you a hypocrite?"

He looked concerned but didn't say 'no' immediately. "You're not making me do anything."

She shook her head, sighing. "I started that game we were playing yesterday evening."

"What am I, your innocent victim?" He stepped up to her. "No matter what they're saying, you and I know what we are to each other. Don't rewrite our story."

She sighed. "Then explain it to me. Did you change your mind or did you never really believe that bit?" He was searching for the words but she was impatient and went on, "Will you confess it?"

He looked her in the eye. "Yeah."

"But you don't feel guilty."

He shook his head.

She half-laughed. "Doesn't it just do your head in?"

"How I feel isn't exactly objective. My conscience is fallible. "

She nodded; she got that. His humility was admirable really, infuriating, sure but she loved him for it.

"At least it's not Father Mac any more." He held a crooked finger to her chin.

"Oh grand, only Father O'Connell, Niamh, Ambrose, and shortly all the world will know our private business."

He took her hand, fingered the ring. "You'd better take that off I suppose."

"Well, I could," she shrugged, "not?"

He looked confused.

"Maybe it'll help. If all the world have to know our business, we can at least tell them on our own terms."

"That my intentions are honourable?"

"It's not your intentions they're doubting."

"Well then they clearly can't read my mind right now."

She looked up at him, at the mischief and desire on his face. She shook her head. "We have to open in half an hour. Looking at me like that is going to make it a very long day."

"Who needs half an hour?"

She laughed. "I do – and not for that. There's a lot more to running a pub than washing dishes and making sandwiches."

"Alright then." He stepped back and took a deep breath. "Teach me."

He was a willing student and Orla offered to pay half price for all his practise pints. On number three he asked for a pay rise.

"Easy tiger." She took the foamy beer and went back to her paper. "I'll let you know when I get thirsty again."

"Here," Assumpta handed him a mop bucket, "time to stop giving away the barrel."

"That one was worth at least seventy five percent."

"You can practise bargaining later as well. Toilets."

He grinned at her as if he wanted to kiss her, took the bucket, and made for the loos.

"He's a keeper." Orla raised her eyebrows at Assumpta.

"Yeah." Assumpta wondered at this one. She was friendly, sure, and they could use all the friends they could get.

"Used to be the priest, I hear."

Assumpta gave a nod.

"Good on him."

She tried not to smile, but Orla was looking back at her paper so there was no great need to hide it.

* * *

Siobhan was the first of the lunch crowd to arrive. Assumpta put her drink on the bar. Siobhan hid a smile behind a theatrical sigh, head shaking.

"What?" Assumpta watched her.

"That little rock'll cost me a tenner is what."

Assumpta had forgotten she was still wearing the ring. "Oh – wait, what?"

"Won't you pocket it till after Brendan's come and gone?"

"I'll do no such thing."

Siobhan laughed.

Peter came out of the loos.

"Congratulations, Peter."

"Thanks, Siobhan, but I have cleaned one or two toilets in my time."

She grinned, "Yes, I suppose servitude and humility take prominent place on your resume."

"I don't have a resume." He took the bucket and brush back behind the bar. "It'd be a short one." He went into the kitchen.

Assumpta shook her head.

"What?" Siobhan smirked.

"Something tells me your news is going to be swallowed whole by our whale."

"I'm hoping." Siobhan held her glass aloft then drank.

Peter returned. "Sandwich, Siobhan?"

"Yes please, and Peter-"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations."

He looked confused.

Assumpta took pity and waved her left hand at him.

"Oh! Oh, thanks." He grinned.

"Cheese and tomato if you have have it."

"Right, yeah, of course."

The other regulars arrived and Assumpta made her excuses, a barrel needed changing, and left Peter to it. Siobhan got her way, in the end, but this was as good a time as any for Peter to cut his teeth. Brendan and Padraig would give him a hard time about the heads on their pints, but they'd also give him pointers and, eventually, in a year or two perhaps, some praise.

She came back to find him deep in conversation with the lot of them while some poor tourist was waiting for a refill. It was Peter's first day really, she reminded herself, served the tourist and then then checked in. "Everything alright?"

"Sure."

"Don't forget the rest of the bar."

"Oh, sorry. What do you need me for?"

"Nothing, I saw to him. You're fine."

He was fastidious after that, to the point where she felt guilty for saying anything. After all the regulars had returned to work she was on the point of telling him to relax, it wasn't an audition, when Father O'Connell came in.

"I wonder if I could have a word."

"Of course." Peter looked a little nervous.

"Erm, is there somewhere more private?"

"Ah," Peter turned to Assumpta, "Do you mind?"

She shook her head. As gratifying as it was, all this best behaviour and good manners, he needed to tone it down. This was going to be his home. He could relax a little. But at least he led the new priest through to her kitchen. He felt comfortable enough to do that.

* * *

"Tea?" Peter went to fill the kettle.

"Ah, that'd be lovely." Father Aidan hovered.

"Take a seat."

"Thanks. I'm sorry to bother you, I just had a question."

"Anything, sure."

"Do you know Mary Cummins?"

Peter had to think, but soon nodded. "Not well. She had an accident a few months ago. Is she alright?"

"Yes, no I just wondered if you'd visited her since her accident."

"I didn't. I'm sorry to say, I never made it out there. Kathleen Hendley was visiting her regularly and I had car trouble, on top of a number of other-"

"It's alright, Peter. I'm not questioning your dedication to your parish."

"No I know, I just, ah, I suppose things were overlooked."

Father Aidan watched and waited.

"Sorry I can't be of more help."

The priest shook his head and smiled. "So, how are you?"

Peter was only just pouring the tea so the conversation was hardly at an end, but he hesitated to answer openly. "Fine. It's an adjustment of course. How are you settling in?" This was such a strange situation for them both, surely.

"Makes for a change from the monastery, that's for certain."

"Must be nice having your sister in town."

Father Aidan sipped his tea, nodding.

"She's been helping me master the art of pulling a beer."

"I can imagine."

* * *

Assumpta wiped down all the tables, cleaned out all the ash trays, anything to keep from accidentally overhearing whatever was going on in the kitchen – whatever had been going on for over half an hour now. He'd better be handing over the priestly reigns and not confessing his sins in _her_ kitchen. Of all places.

Never was the pub so quiet. And never was there so little to do. It didn't help that she was feeling just a tad guilty for snapping at Niamh. Peter would go back there this evening. Maybe she should send him home early as a sort of peace offering. Though Niamh might not take it that way. She should talk to her, and before Peter went back. She wrote a note and stuck it on the taps. "Be right back." Another one for the front door and she grabbed Fionn, locked up and left.

But Niamh wasn't home. Ambrose was, and managed to be even more awkward than usual, informing Assumpta that Niamh had taken some lost teenager off to find her father.

"Isn't that the garda's job?" Assumpta asked.

He hesitated and she couldn't be bothered dealing with any of it. She marched off, pounding out her frustrations in a quick walk up the river a ways, then back again too soon, just in case of a customer. But the pub was already open – Peter had opened it. He was behind the bar and Padraig was in his usual spot. She could have kept on walking after all, but Peter smiled at her and it didn't seem so necessary any more.

"Everything alright?" He asked

"Sure. And with you?"

He looked happy about something. "Yeah."

She took Fionn through to the kitchen and Peter followed. The pub would only get busy again. This was their best chance to talk. "What was all that about?" She asked.

"Oh, just, lots of things. Sorry, we took a little longer than anticipated."

"No it's fine. Just got talking then?"

He nodded. "Pretty much."

"That's what he came in for?"

"No, he wanted to ask me about a parishioner."

"Yeah?"

"I couldn't help him though."

She nodded.

"I suppose I'm a bit more out of the loop now."

"What do you mean?"

"I've no idea what's going on with the person. He couldn't say, of course, had confidences to keep." He shrugged, "That would have been me."

"You're missing it already?" She daren't look at him and busied herself putting out food for Fionn.

"Bits of it. But to be fair, there's no reason I can't visit the sick or serve the community just like I did before. So, I have to earn people's trust now; it's no longer a given. I suppose it was never a given, but it's different now."

She tried not to panic. He wasn't actually voicing regret. This wasn't about her. He'd been a priest for a long time and he was very good at it. On some level he would always be that man – not something she'd actually want changing.

He stepped over to her. "It's okay." He took her hands. "I won't run off on you."

"What?"

"I mean, I'll be here whenever you need me. I'll do that stuff on my time off."

"No, that's fine. You don't need my permission."

"Okay." He smiled tentatively, a bit worried by her mien.

She went on "I'm not your boss, or I won't be for long. Soon as you know how to change a barrel and do the orders." She smiled, "Well, there might be a few more lessons to come, but I don't want us to be like that."

"No." He shook his head. "But it will take some time for things to settle down, for us to find our rhythm."

She reached up for a too-quick kiss and then headed back to the pub.

"Hold on." He grabbed her hand and pulled her back. "What is it?"

"Nothing." She patted his hand. "Not used to the new rhythm."

He watched her, uncertain.

"It just keeps coming, doesn't it? One thing after another. This is a huge change for you. That's all."

He nodded. "Comes in waves."

She searched his face. He did seem content, at peace. What she'd do for such peace herself. "But you're alright?" She needed to be sure.

He rested his forehead on hers. "Much better than alright."

She smiled bravely, hoping he didn't ask her too searchingly if she was alright. She needed to talk to Niamh.


	16. Chapter 16

The fuss over an engagement ring – good lord!

"Is it really such a great surprise?" Brendan asked exactly what Assumpta had been thinking.

Peter kept finding things to do elsewhere, suddenly eager to serve any customer he didn't know personally, and when that was done he got a head start on cleaning up.

"What are you doing?" Assumpta caught him at the sink.

"What does it look like?" He turned, brandishing a tea towel.

"Hiding."

He squared with her. "Sorry."

"I wish I'd an excuse to do the same."

"Hey, no flirting on shift."

"Who made you the boss?"

He laughed, shook his head, marvelling once again. "I love you."

"Oh and that's not flirting."

"I can't help it."

The ambient noise of the pub dropped away suddenly. They looked at one another for a moment then Assumpta went to see what was going on.

Nothing but Sean Dillon in for a drink, but you'd think someone had confessed to murder by the reaction he got.

"Evening." He said, taking a place in the middle of the bar.

"You're not wanted here." Padraig was drunk, but he wasn't that drunk.

Assumpta glared at him but he had his eyes fixed on Dillon. "What can I get you?" She tried ignoring the hostility.

"Lager, thanks."

"Let's go." Brian nudged Liam and Donal toward the exit but they were less than eager to leave.

"Excuse me." Assumpta stepped up, "Anyone and everyone is welcome to drink in my pub and if you-" she caught sight of Niamh. She must have come in while Assumpta had been in the kitchen with Peter. Recalling what she was saying, she went on, "If you don't like it, you know where the door is yourself."

Padraig banged down his empty and stormed out. Brendan shrugged and followed. Siobhan was half-amused by the show but followed her companions. Liam and Donal held their ground by Brian was off with the others. Padraig's home brew would get a good going-over tonight.

"I didn't mean to cost you custom." Sean sat down.

"Don't apologise for them." Assumpta pulled his pint.

"Hi." Niamh took the seat beside Sean – and it turned out the greeting was intended for him, not Assumpta.

"Is Emma alright?"

"She will be."

"I'm sorry if I made things worse."

"It's not your fault. You only tried to help."

Assumpta left them to it. Peter had returned to the bar and was pouring a glass of wine for someone. She stepped back a little, watched and waited. Niamh hadn't yet ordered a drink. At a lull in the conversation Assumpta approached.

"Can I get you anything, Niamh?"

Niamh looked offended.

Assumpta sighed, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No? I'm not thirsty, but thanks anyway." She stood, all eyes on the pair of them. Then, rather than marching out the door and off home, Niamh made for the kitchen.

Assumpta heard Michael ask, "What was all that about?" before she closed the door on the pub. She charged in, having stewed over this much of the day. "Niamh, I'm sorry about this morning. I didn't mean it the way it came out."

"Well, what did you mean?"

"It wasn't about _you_, or our friendship." She gripped the back of one of the dining chairs. "I couldn't put how I felt into words – for you or anybody."

"Except Peter."

"_Not_ Peter. Niamh, I barely even admitted what was going on to myself. Do you think I'd have married someone else if this was all clear in my head."

"Wouldn't it have helped, though? Talking to a friend."

"Helped how? I no more expected him to leave the church than I expected to fall in love with a priest. No amount of talking could have talked me out of it."

"I'd have made a noble effort." Niamh smiled as a sort of peace offering. "I lived with Ambrose before we married. In fact it was Peter's idea."

"What?"

"Well, minus the perks. But perhaps that was the collar talking."

Assumpta laughed, hardly believing it.

"I shouldn't have snapped. I was just surprised, is all." Niamh shrugged.

"You're a good friend, Niamh."

"Pfft – I'm the best."

"It's not a competition."

"Good, I'm not sure I'd come out on top." Niamh looked toward the bar. "Is he useful round the place?"

"He's learning."

"He's eager."

Assumpta acknowledged that with a glance.

"Driving you crazy?"

She laughed. "Come on, what will you have to drink?" They went back out to the bar.

Niamh sat beside Sean.

Sean waited a bit before asking, "All's well?"

"It is now." Niamh nodded. "You couldn't slog it out with Padraig, could you? Put all this behind you."

"Ten minutes in the kitchen? No, I'm afraid that wouldn't cut it."

As people started to finish off their last orders, Assumpta sidled up to Peter. "You should head off."

"I'll help clean up." He said and moved off, working.

She decided to wait till closing to belabour the point, but he was already filling the sink when she finally locked the door.

"Oy, you." She nodded in the general direction of Niamh's. "Go on."

"You afraid I can't resist temptation, now I've got you all to myself?" He turned back to the glassware.

"Something like that."

"Oh, other way around, is it? Dish gloves, eh, better than cologne."

"Yeah, yeah." She put another load of glasses in the sink in front of him, careful not to get too close. It might not be the dish gloves, but there was no shortage of temptation.

"Doctor's orders, anyway. Got to keep your hands dry."

"I do have a lifetime supply of dish gloves, thanks to this odd but very helpful bloke who keeps hanging around."

"Odd. Fair enough."

She brought through the last of the dishes. "And very helpful."

"Is that your way of saying thanks?"

"It is tonight." She kissed his shoulder and went back out to wipe up the bar.

"Let them drip. Go on. We wouldn't want Niamh and Ambrose getting too excited."

He went to get his things from upstairs. She finished up in the bar and met him on the stairs.

"Well, good night." She took a deep breath, still not quite convinced that he'd leave.

"I'm going to sleep well." He said, running his free hand back through his hair, evidently exhausted.

"Did I work you too hard?"

He laughed at the multiple possible meanings, then kissed her properly for the first time since breakfast. "This is going to be the longest six months – eight months – year of my life." He brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Fingers crossed for six months."

She pressed another kiss to his lips. "Is it against the rules to pray for a quick divorce?"

"Oops." He raised his eyebrows and grimaced.

She regarded him in earnest.

"What?" He said, though he moved around her as if to go, all good intentions.

"You do, don't you? Pray about all this." On his nod she went on and asked the question she really meant to. "And for me?"

He hesitated to reply, though not because there was any doubt of the answer. He was weary of her response. "Yeah."

She nodded, twisting her mouth. "Did you always?"

He nodded. "Not always so regularly. You featured, ah, exponentially."

She slipped her arms around him, laughing. "Goodnight." She squeezed him tight once then let go.


	17. Chapter 17

By the end of the week Peter seemed to have a handle on things. Assumpta had been to the doctor for a check up and returned to find him changing a barrel, while a few customers sat up top, with near-full glasses and cups of tea.

"I know it's not theoretical physics, but you couldn't try to make it look a little more difficult?"

He turned from the task at hand and watched her descend. "What did Michael say?"

"I'm in the clear."

"You're allowed to wash dishes?"

"Why would I be doing that?"

He grinned. "Give us a hand?"

She went over and they worked together in silence. Only when they were finished, standing an awkward distance apart, in that cellar where so much had occurred, did he speak his mind.

"Ah, so I'm running out of money."

"Oh!" She laughed, nervous relief. That was all this was about. "I didn't even think."

"No, neither. And I don't need much."

"I meant to pay you a wage - I mean to."

"I know, but I've seen the books and even minimum wage, full time is going to be a stretch."

She shook her head, "I'll pay you what you're worth."

"This is silly."

"You're working hard."

"We're getting married."

"Not in the near future." She didn't mean to wound him but knew she had.

He looked toward the bar. They should return to their customers. "I shouldn't pretend we are," he turned to her, "already."

She lifted her hand to his cheek. "We will be."

"It's not the same thing though, is it?"

She shook her head.

He closed the meagre space between them and pressed a kiss to her lips as if it were a vow. Then he started up the stairs.

"Father Mac." He greeted the man at the bar.

They both heard Assumpta's groan from below. Peter bit back a smile. Father Mac raised his eyebrows. "So much for appearances."

"Just changing a barrel."

"I believe you. Thousands wouldn't."

"Whiskey, Father?"

"Pot of tea, thank you. And some sandwiches."

"Of course."

"So she's got you behind the bar already?" _She _had not yet come up out of the cellar.

"Have to make a living, one way or another."

"Earning your keep."

Assumpta thumped up the stairs. "You're fuelling this?"

"What?"

"After that sermon at the hospital, you're feeding the gossips."

"I'm doing no such thing."

"Clearly."

"I have heard things, but what were you expecting? That's not to say I've participated."

She glared. "Tea, was it?" She went on to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Peter gave Father Mac a look. The old man chuckled. "Remember when you could eat lunch and leave? When you were immune."

Peter shook his head but resisted saying that he'd never been immune. "I'll see about those sandwiches."

"Ham and lettuce. No cheese - for my heart."

Assumpta was back with the tea. "Complimentary packet of crisps then?"

He laughed again. "Ah, it's good to see some things never change."

Peter brought out the sandwiches. Assumpta had made herself scarce so it seemed a safer time to speak to Father Mac. "Everything settling down?"

"With the new priest? I think so."

Peter nodded. "See? Aren't we all better off."

Father Mac put down his teacup. "He calls me Frank."

Peter tried not to smile – he was so close. "Well, it's, ah, nice to be missed."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Peter went ahead and smiled that time.

* * *

When the bar had emptied out, in the middle of the afternoon, he found Assumpta at the kitchen table, a file spilling out. "Here you go." She handed him a couple of forms.

He took them, put them down on the table, and went to put on the kettle.

"What is it, Peter?"

He sighed, turned. "Fitzgerald's is your home. It's yours in a way it could never be anyone else's."

She stood and walked right up to him. "I want it to be yours. I do." She sighed. She hated bringing up Leo but here he was again. "I never did this before. Leo and I didn't have a shared account. Which makes things easier now, but – at the time it made sense. He got paid for his work, as ever, and all the pub stuff was wrapped up with me."

He wasn't looking at her.

She went on. "We'll do this differently." Now she was getting frustrated. "Everything differently, probably. Hopefully. Peter, come on. This isn't a big deal."

"It is. I haven't worked for this place. I can't take a fair share."

"This is ridiculous. There'll be no dividing anything into shares. We'll not be splitting up." She surprised herself with just how certain she was. "So, I'll pay you a fair wage and whenever we join forces, economically, you can give it all back – minus beer money and what? The groceries you smuggle into Niamh's pantry when she's not looking and every time you fill up the van as if forty pound isn't the nigh-the-lotto to a poor ex-curate come barman."

He was smiling now – at last – and said. "I used to take engaged couples through a few sessions, enticingly called 'the joys of marriage' – I know, it's a kick, priests talking about sex – all the material came straight out of a book – but it did say that the top two things people fight about are money and sex."

"No surprises there."

He hesitated, just looking at her, a luxury he wasn't yet taking for granted. "Barman, eh? Not lackey?"

She laughed, shook her head.

"We should talk about it. Even if it's difficult."

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Because it's not indestructible. No marriage is."

She conceded the point, but he was making mountains out of mole hills here.

"The thought of losing you," he worried his lower lip, "every time I go down in that cellar it throws me."

"You really should stop putting your fingers in the socket." She couldn't even smile at the joke but he did.

He ran his thumb from her forehead down the side of her face, stopping, so close to kissing her but not. "I want to get this right."

"I know. Me too." She looked him in the eye, daring him to question her. "Money and sex eh?"

"It's not a to-do list." He bumped his nose to hers.

She lifted the papers from the table behind her. "It just needs your account number and tax details."

"Good, that's all I've got."

"What, no off shore accounts, stocks and bonds, investments stashed on the Isle of Man " She started putting away the file.

"Vow of poverty. Very low rate of return."

"Well at least you don't have to worry about breaking that one."


	18. Chapter 18

Assumpta and Siobhan were deep in conversation in the kitchen. Peter paused at the open door. "I'll just, ah-" he pointed to the bar.

"Thanks." Assumpta waved him off.

Siobhan smiled as he closed the door. "He's settled in well, then."

"He's living at Niamh's, as if it's any of your business."

"Oh." Siobhan actually seemed surprised. "Though I suppose – never mind."

Assumpta was more than happy to return to their previous topic of discussion. "I am a little surprised. I mean, as a vet aren't you more than familiar with the medical side of things and everything that could go wrong?"

"I am but, aside from my age, I've none of the risk factors, and you have to consider the increased likelihood of interventions if mother and baby are in hospital, or under additional stress, or-"

"Yeah, but aren't interventions just the kind of thing you might want on hand?"

"You'd go to hospital then?"

"I've no idea what I'd do."

Siobhan waited, watched her in case she'd volunteer more, then went on. "Brendan thinks I've gone crazy."

"He gets to chose the venue when he's pushing the thing out."

"That thing is my son or daughter – and his too."

Assumpta sighed.

Watching her, Siobhan took a stab in the dark. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Assumpta shook her head. "No. No, I don't think so. No."

"But you might be?"

Assumpta gritted her teeth. "I don't think so."

"Does he know?"

"There's nothing to know."

"But there might be."

"Well he knows it's possible, he's not quite that blissfully ignorant."

"So it would be his then?"

Assumpta nearly dropped her tea cup. "What? Of course." And then it hit her – how had she never once considered the possibility. She'd been careful but nothing was for certain. She felt ill. No, surely she'd had a period since then.

"Sorry." Siobhan fidgeted, helpless. "I shouldn't have said – Assumpta, breathe."

She tried and soon managed it. Siobhan gave her a glass of water and the downed most of it in one go. Then she felt even more sick.

"Is it likely?" Siobhan asked.

Assumpta shook her head, trying to convince herself more than anyone. No, it wasn't likely, but technically it was possible.

"I'll get you a test. Okay?" Siobhan got up, ready to go.

"No. No I'm going into town later. I'll do it."

Siobhan nodded. "Will you tell Peter?"

"Sooner or later." She was a long way from knowing which.

"Do you want me to drive you?"

Assumpta shook her head, then hesitated. "Maybe. Yeah."

"What's in Cilldargen?"

"Lawyers."

Eyebrows raised, Siobhan stood up. "Big day."

Assumpta exhaled sharply.

"I have a call to make. I'll be back in time."

"Thanks."

Siobhan left and in came Peter, "Am I looking in the wrong place or are we out of salt and vinegar crisps?"

"I'll have a look." She scarpered before he had a chance to notice anything was the matter.

By the time she returned to the pub she'd found her poker face, but no crisps. "We restock in two days. I can pick up a box in Cilldargen this afternoon."

"You're going this afternoon?" He handed a customer their change then gave her his full attention.

"I told you yesterday."

"Right, yeah."

She watched him but didn't ask if he'd forgotten _why_ as well. They were in the bar, their inactive audience an audience nonetheless.

When Brendan came in Peter rushed to serve him and, once the man had his stout in hand, broke the bad news. "I forgot something. I won't be able to take practise this afternoon. But next week – I'll double check. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, that's fine." Brendan shrugged it off. No biggie. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd be my on-call substitute, in case the baby comes in the middle of the school day."

Peter grinned. "Absolutely. So long as it can be Phys-Ed and football."

"Why not? Though, I should warn you, it might be all day."

"Sounds good to me."

Brendan nodded toward Assumpta. "Might want to run it by the boss."

Peter turned and caught her unguarded expression: concerned was understating it. "I'll talk to Niamh." He assured her. "Between us we can manage Kiaran, Fitzgerald's and a class of kids – if necessary. It's only one day."

"No, it's fine." She shook herself and plastered on a neutral expression. "I don't have anything coming up."

Peter nodded.

He caught her in the kitchen while Siobhan was waiting in the bar. "What have I forgotten?"

"It's fine. It's not as if you're to blame." Seeing his was still stumped she went on, "I'm seeing a lawyer."

"Oh, right. Of course."

"Like I said, hardly your fault."

He shook his head and stepped closer. "It's not about whose fault-"

"No, I know." She wasn't thinking about the divorce. She hugged him, clung in fact.

He pressed kisses to the side of her head, a little taken aback by her distress, but she rushed out before explaining further.

* * *

Siobhan browsed baby paraphernalia while Assumpta used the facilities. She came out at last, a tentative smile barely settled on her features.

Siobhan waited for her to speak.

"Negative." Assumpta said, and held up the box. "Suppose I should hold onto the other two in the box, just in case."

"True. Cruel isn't it? They'll never give a false positive but a negative is no guarantee at all."

"What?"

"You didn't know that?"

"I wasn't thinking of it! Now I am. Oh, god."

Siobhan cringed. "Sorry."

"So, what, I wait a week and do it again?" Assumpta sighed. "I have to tell Peter."

Siobhan led the way out of the shop. "I'm no expert, but I don't think you've anything to fear from Peter Clifford."

If she had a shadow of a doubt about that it didn't last more than half the trip home. Peter wouldn't leave her. But that wasn't to say it wouldn't wound him. If she was pregnant with Leo's child, Peter would raise it as his own. He'd forgive her – again. But how could she ask it of him?

* * *

shameless, aren't I? Okay writers, time to earn your fix. Update something!


	19. Chapter 19

The pub was busy on their arrival, thank god. Peter gave Assumpta a significant look as she came in, thinking of her meeting with the lawyer, and said, "It go alright?" while pulling a pint.

"Fine." She barely nodded and went to work. She was in a daze all evening, but she could do this job in her sleep. No one seemed to notice but Peter made sure to call last orders just a little early – not so early that anyone would complain – and hurried everyone out the door with all the suave he could muster.

Assumpta stood staring at the bar.

He grabbed a half-gone bottle of red and two glasses. "You look like you could use one of these."

She didn't say no, but she held up her hand to stop him when it was barely a third full.

"You alright?" He gave himself a proper serving and sat on a bar stool, watching her, waiting for her to sit beside him.

"I took a pregnancy test today."

He froze, put his glass down carefully. "And?"

She shook her head and sat down. "But they're not foolproof."

He picked up his glass, took a drink. "There was always a possibility."

"Yeah." She was thinking of a very different possibility and finally dared look him in the eye.

"What is it?"

"I don't remember how long it's been. Definitely more than a month but with everything that's happened – stress can stop ovulation so it's possible it's just that."

"Don't worry about it." He took her hand, the slightest smile on his lips, eager to reassure. "If it happens, it happens. We'll be fine."

"You're not hearing me. I don't remember how long. It could be months. It could be three months." She hoped like hell she wouldn't have to spell it out more than that.

He froze. He got it. He shifted his jaw as if he couldn't swallow it. "You mean-" He took a deep breath. "Okay, well." He blinked, looked away. She let go of his hand and he looked back at her. "Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay. It's possible. I always knew that." He cocked his head to one side. "On some level."

She leaned toward him. "Sleep on it. Don't say anything now." She looked at her glass of wine. Untouched. "Don't make any promises. You don't have to say anything."

He turned confused. "Wait – you think I'm going to leave?"

"I think this is a game changer. I think you've made a lot of big decisions recently and this one should wait for the light of day."

"This one should probably wait for a positive pregnancy test, but do you honestly think I'd give you up over this?" It wasn't what he was angry about, but it was the outlet.

"I-" she managed before she felt the ache of threatening tears in her throat and behind her eyes.

He took her face between his hands. "There is no out I would take. Maybe it counts nowhere but here – but right here, you and I _are_ married. That's it. This is it – for me." The whisper of a thought occurred to him. He didn't let it develop, voicing it as if that would vanquish it. "But if you want," he couldn't say it, "want me to, ah-"

"No." She shook her head furiously. "No."

His arms went around her shoulders, near crushing her, but she calmed slowly and he did too.

"Come on. This can all wait. Bed time." He tugged her off the barstool and shepherded her upstairs. She went directly to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, then undressed, dropped everything on the floor and climbed into bed. He was one step behind and so she lay there and watched him. He left on his shorts and got in beside her, leaving only one bedside lamp glowing.

"There's got to be a way they can know for certain, one way or the other." He rolled to face her. "We can go to see the doctor tomorrow."

She nodded. "Are you sure?" He looked confused and she went on. "That you should stay over?"

He nodded. "You still have that lightening tshirt somewhere?"

She smiled and kissed him. "I'm so sorry."

He shushed her, pulling her close.

"You don't have to be the strong one, always reasonable and level-headed. You're allowed to be angry." She spoke into his chest.

"Let's wait and see if there's anything to be upset about."

"There's plenty, no matter what the doctor says. You should be furious." She looked up at him.

"I love you."

"I know." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I know. But do you – do you know that I do? Just as much. Despite everything I've done – and said. And done." She cupped his cheek in her hand, "I really do," she kissed him, "love you."

He nodded, eyes shining. "I know."

* * *

"We can do a blood test." Doc Ryan nodded. "That will give a definite answer, but it takes a few days to get the results."

Assumpta nodded, already rolling up her sleeve.

"Right." The doctor went to get the necessary.

While the needle was still in her arm she asked. "Can they tell how far along from this?"

The doctor looked confused, removed the needle, and then the penny dropped. "Oh, right. Ah, well I can book you in for a scan for that. We'll just cancel if it's not necessary." He looked to Peter, then back to Assumpta. "Is everything alright?"

"It will be." Peter said firmly, eyes on Assumpta.

The doctor nodded. "If you want to take another pregnancy test then first thing in the morning is best. I'll phone you with the results as soon as I get them. Try not to worry."

They'd left the pub with Niamh but returned to find it empty, locked up, and no one around to explain. Assumpta went to check that everything was alright but found only Ambrose at the garda house. He, at least could catch her up on the happenings.

"Siobhan's having the baby." Assumpta relayed before she was even through the door to the pub.

Peter grinned. "Everything okay?"

Assumpta shrugged. "Sounds like it. In Quigley's hot tub too." She laughed. "Good on her."

"Brian'll love that - Oh, I was going to take Brendan's class so he could-"

"He's already there."

"I'd better pop over to the school and make sure they're covered."

"I think I can manage this place by myself." She looked around at the empty pub. "Somehow."

"Take it easy, yeah?" He kissed her goodbye.

She raised her eyebrows in a kind of accession.

* * *

That evening was a party of the impromptu variety, and without a single one of the guests of honour present. Sean bought Emma a beer and she swore it was her first one ever. Brian managed to keep the scowl of his face and only left a little early. Ambrose was watching Kiaran. Niamh was on fire. And a bit drunk.

"Sorry I abandoned the bar." She hugged Assumpta. "Are you alright though? Was it something to do with the electric shock you needed the doc for?"

"No, I'm fine." Assumpta assured her. "I'm fine, the pub's fine, the baby's fine."

"Siobhan's fine. Siobhan, ah you should have seen it. She was incredible."

Brendan arrived on cue. "Yes she was. Incredible. And now asleep, the both of them, and I'd better go back soon but isn't a new father obliged to toast to it?"

Peter poured him his drink. "On the house."

Assumpta raised her eyebrows at that.

"What?" Peter dared her to object.

She smiled, shook her head, turned to the crowd. "You heard the man. Congratulations Brendan."


	20. Chapter 20

"Where's Peter?" Brendan was getting awfully accustomed to his new barman.

"Missing in action." Assumpta held a glass to the tap. "Shall I, or would you rather wait?"

"No, no. Go ahead."

With a roll of her eyes Assumpta poured. Before she'd finished the phone rang. Every time this happened she was expecting Doc Ryan. Quick way to get every man and his cat to phone you: wait on one particular call.

"Fitzgerald's." She answered.

"Assumpta." It was the Doc. At last. Not that any relief came with it.

She leaned on the wall. "What do they say?"

She heard his sigh first and knew before he spoke. "You are pregnant." When she didn't reply he went on. "Is Peter there?"

"No, he's out. Ah, so when was that appointment for the, ah..."

The doc was nothing if not efficient. He gave her all the information, even ensuring she wrote it down, and insisted she visit him soon after.

She agreed with everything, no questions asked, eager to end the call.

"Not bad news, I hope." Brendan caught the expression on her face before she masked it.

"No, it's fine." She reached the bar, glad of it's sturdy, weight bearing capabilities. "I'm not feeling very well, is all. I wonder if you could, ah-"

"Anything." Brendan stood.

"He'll be up at St Joseph's."

"Of course. I'll find him."

"Thanks."

There was hardly anyone else about and no one needing her in a hurry. She needed to sit down.

Peter ran into the kitchen not five minutes later. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, not yet daring to look him in the eye.

He closed the kitchen door. "You are?"

She nodded, afraid to witness his first reaction, his gut response, but after a moment she looked up at him, met his gaze.

He gritted his teeth and knelt down beside her, taking her hands.

"Scan is tomorrow morning, first thing." She said.

"Good. Then we'll know."

"Then we'll know."

He smiled, just barely, leaning his head to one side. "In a few weeks we'll probably be over the moon about it."

"For the love of god." She shook her head. "You're insufferable." She smiled. "You know that?"

He nodded. "I'm going to be a dad."

"That's the hope."

He looked at her seriously. "I am. Do you know what I realised just now – well, before."

"While you were on your knees?"

"I tell you, it's better than the shower for bright ideas."

She smiled, shaking her head.

"We only have to wait for the divorce, legally speaking."

It took her a moment to catch on. "Don't you want to wait for your release?"

After a beat he shook his head.

"Okay – oh no."

"What?"

"How do you feel about eloping?" She spoke without thinking of anything except the enormous task of organising a wedding, but the look on his face was a slap. "Sorry," she said, but there was no unsaying it.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He stood up. "Are you alright? Do you need me to watch the bar?"

She stood. "I'm sorry, that was stupid."

"Slip of the tongue. It's okay. I get it. On top of everything, the idea of a wedding..."

She grabbed his shoulders so he couldn't turn away. "It's fine."

"Fine." He repeated her less than enthusiastic word.

"I was stupid. Forget I said it. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed is all. Niamh will take me dress dropping – sure, I'll be a ball of enthusiasm before day's end."

He cracked a smile at that unlikely picutre. "That so?"

"Well, it could happen. Tell you what, we can do the joys of marriage in the evening afterwards."

"It's six sessions."

"It'll keep us going all week."

"In the evenings, after closing?"

"Fine, we'll just go to bed. Call it practical."

He laughed and hugged her.

They stood there, not moving at all, till she remembered about the pregnancy. "We're going to have a baby." She said.

He squeezed her tighter. "We are."

* * *

They weren't.

"This is what we call an ectopic pregnancy."

"Sorry, what?" Peter tried to make out the nonsense on the screen.

"The embryo needs to attach to the wall of the uterus but in this case is settled in the fallopian tube."

Assumpta nodded. "I'm familiar with what it means."

The lady nodded. Peter looked utterly stumped. Assumpta dreaded explaining it herself but it'd be preferable to this stranger doing it.

Heedless, the radiologist went on. "Fortunately, it's so early in the pregnancy there should be minimal scar tissue. You shouldn't have a problem conceiving again. But your family doctor will answer any questions. You'll need to see him in the next few days."

"How far along is it?" Assumpta asked – not that it made any difference now.

"Four weeks, give or take."

Peter's eyes widened at that, then reverted to utter confusion, looking to Assumpta for an explanation.

She hurried them out of there and only when they'd closed the car doors did she speak. "It can't survive."

"Oh." He managed.

"It's dangerous for me too, if we don't, ah -" This was where it got tricky. He didn't get it. He might take ages to come to the right conclusion alone. So she spelled it out. "They have to terminate or else it can be serious."

"What?" He was back to looking lost.

"There's no chance of the baby surviving."

"So won't it just happen naturally – a miscarriage?"

She shook her head then stopped. "Well, yes, at some point, but the longer we wait, the more risk."

"Oh." He whispered, more an exhalation than a word. He looked her in the eye for a fraction of a second, then turned away, brow furrowed, jaw working as if he was chewing.

She took his hand where it lay in his lap. "There'll be another time."

He nodded but she wasn't sure he heard, let alone understood.

"Peter, there's nothing we could do."

"Yeah."

"Do you understand?" She wasn't getting through.

"Yeah."

She was about to start the car, give him some time to process this while they drove. But then she saw the tears in his eyes. She had to help, had to do something. Putting her hand to his cheek, she didn't let him turn away, which of course only brought him closer to breaking down.

"I don't understand." He said.

"What don't you understand?"

"No, I understand that. I just don't-" He leaned into her, resting the full weight of his head on her shoulder. "When do we get a break?"

She pressed kisses into his hair. "I wish I knew." She rubbed his back, desperate to do something, but there was nothing at all within her power. "Do you want to go home?" She asked. "Or to St Joseph's? Anywhere, anywhere's better than this parking lot."

He lifted his face from her red cardigan, the weave imprinted on his flushed cheek. "Not a church. Outside someplace."

She nodded and started the van. He hadn't opted for a church, but she'd no doubt he'd be praying about this, sooner or later. Then it occurred to her that he didn't want to go to a church – maybe he didn't want to pray. Maybe this was the moral straw to maim the faith-camel. She looked across at him. He was staring at her hand on the gear stick, or perhaps the space in between. There was not a thing she could say or do to soften this pounding. And if he couldn't pray, then what?

So she prayed for him, just in case it might work, barely a sentence in a her head, a shot in the dark.

They parked at the lake and walked up the beach, hand in hand, silent. As they turned he suddenly asked her. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

"No morning sickness or, I don't know?"

"I'm fine." She squeezed his hand. "You want to walk this out or spare your blistered feet?"

He tugged her toward the grassy bank and sat down. After a while he said, "It was the first time, wasn't it?"

"The first day at least."

He put his head in his hands as if trying to pull out his hair.

"I wish there was some other way." She felt like she was in the middle of saying something stupid, but if she didn't finish it'd be even more stupid. "But this is the kind of thing that made pregnancy as often lethal as not, once upon a time."

"I know." He leaned over, hugging her around the middle, hiding his face in her lap. A little later he lifted himself to face her. "I'm sorry, I just," he exhaled heavily. "I'm all run out of that positivity you love to hate." He smirked. "Silver linings, eh?"

She put her open hand to his cheek, looked him in the eye, a silent plea that he'd be okay, an oath that she'd face every demon with him, if he'd let her. "You're allowed to fall to pieces too."

"The joys of marriage, eh?"


	21. Chapter 21

Assumpta was in bed with stomach cramps bad enough to keep her there. Stomach flu, Peter told the curious locals who either looked at him askance, thinking him a certifiable carrier, or seeded the suspicion that Assumpta might be pregnant.

Siobhan was probably the only exception, far from her usually observant self, on a desperate search for Brendan. When no one helped she left again and then the story came out – he'd walked out on the Christening rehearsal. Niamh soon showed up to confirm it.

"How's her ladyship?"

"If you don't mind manning the bar I'll go find out." Peter said but Niamh made for the stairs herself.

"Brave woman." Padraig called after her.

It wasn't exceptionally busy, but with the added impetus of ensuring Assumpta didn't feel the need to get out of bed, Peter was more thorough than ever. Still, he had time, while pouring a pint, to ask Padraig where Brendan was.

"Up to his knees in the river, probably. But if he wants to be alone, he wants to be alone."

"Yet it may not be what he needs."

Padraig was in no hurry, but when he finished his drink he left.

Niamh returned and came behind the bar. "Go on."

Assumpta was curled up on her side, facing the door, so she saw him arrive and smiled bravely. That stopped him in his tracks. He'd been prepared for frustration, rage, perhaps a projectile.

"So much for no regrets." He said and approached.

"Don't say that." She tried to sit up but he sat down beside her, his hand on her shoulder, holding her down. She turned her head, kissed his fingers. "It'll pass."

"Did you tell Niamh?"

She shook her head. "Should I?"

"No, it's not that."

"If you want to say, you can say."

He shook his head and then lay down beside her.

"Doesn't get much more private than this." She closed her eyes for another rolling cramp.

"All of that is fast fading to unimportant. Are you alright?"

"Ah, sure." She groaned, lifting her knees up between them. "Don't suppose you had any left-overs of those magic painkillers the doc got you at the hospital."

He shook his head. "But I can call Michael, there must be something he can do."

She pushed him away, just managing to say, "'scuse me," breathing deep and heavy.

"What's wrong?"

She clambered off the end of the bed and he followed her down the hall, catching the toilet door before it bounced and hit her, where she was kneeling on the floor.

When her breathing returned to normal, he asked, "Is that the first time?"

She shook her head, shifted to sit on the floor. "While Niamh's was up here."

"Want me to help you back to bed?"

She nodded, took his hand, pulling herself up. "She thinks I'm pregnant."

He sighed, not a whit surprised.

"She's not the only one?"

"No, but don't worry, we'll prove them all wrong."

With half a laugh she leaned on his shoulder and wriggled into an embrace. "I love you." She said.

"I know." He pushed back her hair.

"That's nice." She leaned her head to the side, prompting him to do it again.

Niamh came up after closing and found Peter sitting cross-legged on Assumpta's bed, one hand in her hair, fingers working.

"She alright?" Niamh whispered.

He looked up, startled, "Oh, you know." He immediately felt bad for the untruth but hadn't he been fibbing all day about why Assumpta was up here? "Thank you for minding the bar. I meant to come back down, but-"

"You were needed here." She smiled at the odd image of the man who'd been her priest so very at home, and just where he belonged, in Assumpta's bed. "You know you don't have to check off every vow before the wedding – sickness, health, poverty." She nodded toward the pub. "I'll lock up."

"Thanks." Peter said.

The next morning, while Assumpta was sleeping, he collected the last few of his things, in his rucksack, and less-than-accidentally moved in.

* * *

Brendan slunk in for an early lunch. He was the only customer.

"Flying solo?" Brendan lay his jacket across the next barstool.

"I'm not the only one."

"Don't you start."

Peter held up his hands in surrender. "The usual?"

"Yes please. So you heard then?"

"Siobhan came in searching for you."

"She found me."

"Ah." Peter put a tall glass of stout down on the bar.

"You've been practising." Brendan tried and failed to steer the conversation toward beer.

"So, what's the problem?" Peter said as he walked out to the kitchen, giving Brendan plenty of time to phrase his answer.

He didn't need time. "I've no part in any of it. She doesn't want me to have a part in it and so I don't and that's the end of it. I won't be window dressing."

Peter indulged in a smile, safely out of sight, then brought through his friend's lunch. "Do you want a part of it, or the whole thing?"

"I don't know." Brendan started on his sandwich as if it held the answer. "Maybe that's the problem."

Peter wiped down the spotless bar.

"I wouldn't take it back for the world, but I wish things weren't so complicated."

Peter laughed. "I know what you mean."

"She's right about one thing."

Peter raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'Just one?' but refrained from speaking aloud.

"Yeah yeah." Brendan put down his glass. "We shouldn't get married. It wouldn't be right. But how does this work?"

"You'll figure it out."

"Trial and error."

"It's all there is."

Brendan laughed and finished his beer. "Father Aidan thinks I don't know how lucky I am, though he might have said blessed rather than lucky."

"Hm." Peter couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to. This was far too close to home.

"You alright?"

His nod was far from convincing.

"If there's anything you want to talk about?"

Peter nodded but now wasn't the time. "Don't you have some place to be?"

Brendan sighed heavily. "Fine! Good God, the lot of you. Off I go," he slung his jacket over his shoulder, "to grovel."

"Good man."

"There's hope for me yet."

The bar was empty so he risked missing an impatient customer and left open every door for the sake of hearing them. Assumpta was sitting on the floor outside the toilet door. On seeing him she said, "It's more comfortable here on the carpet."

"It's more comfortable in bed, surely."

"It's such a long way."

"Right." He helped her up and back to bed. "I'm calling the doctor."

She sighed but didn't protest. "It's what he said would happen. There's nothing wrong."

"You're just miserable."

"It will pass."

"Oh, and I'm insufferably positive?"

She lay down, lifting her knees up to her stomach almost immediately.

"I hate this." He said.

"You hate it?"

"I can't do a thing."

"Ah it could be worse."

"Really? How?"

"You could be a priest."

He laughed and sat beside her. "How much longer?"

"That was just the question I was always asking."

"I thought you said you never thought I'd leave the priesthood."

"I didn't believe you'd do it, but you're hardly the first one ever. I knew it was possible."

"Then why was it so hard to believe?"

She breathed deep, longer and longer, then seemed to come though it.

"You don't need me to help you down-"

She shook her head. "Distract me. What's the goss?"

"Really?"

"Tell me we've been usurped as the most interesting people going."

He smiled and pushed back her hair. Her appreciation evident, he kept rubbing her head as he spoke. "Brendan walked out on the christening rehearsal."

"Who can blame him?"

"What? Why?"

"I don't think I could say half that stuff, in front of God, if he cares to listen, and everyone else. Tantamount to fraud."

"Oh, right." He swallowed every response, every question. They could cross that bridge when they came to it, and it was a ways off yet. Now was certainly not the time to discuss it. Back to the case at hand: Brendan and Siobhan. "I suspect there's more to it than that."

"Is he throwing a tantrum like a toddler who didn't get the big balloon?"

Peter smiled. "Maybe."

"You told him to suck it up and talk to Siobhan, right?"

"Something like that."

"And that right there is why I didn't think you'd quit." On his confused expression she went on. "You were a good priest."

"What, abrupt?"

"Honest. To the point. A right pain in the arse."

"Brendan would probably agree with you on that."

"People like a pain in the arse more than they let on. Why do you think I'm still in business?"

"Speaking of keeping you in business, I'd better go back to work."

"When's the christening?"

"This afternoon."

"You'll miss it?"

"It's okay."

"Not it's not. Shut up shop. Everyone will be there anyway. Open up for the crowd after. You won't miss a thing."

"You'll be here though."

"Trust me, you won't miss a thing."


	22. Chapter 22

As he had done every night she'd been ill, Peter left the clean-up till morning. She'd been sleeping soundly when he left her, that morning, so he was surprised on mounting the stairs, a clean bar at his back, to hear the shower going.

"Assumpta?" He called from outside the door.

"Who else?"

"Are you alright?"

"Would you come in? I can't hear you."

He hesitated, knowing full well it was silly to do so. Opening the door a fraction, he stepped up to the threshold. "Are you alright?"

"Better and better. Ah, would you shut the door. You're letting a draft in."

He went to leave.

"Oh, for the love of God, you've seen me naked. Remember?" She pulled back the curtain, as if he needed a reminder.

"Ah," he gaped.

She smiled, shook her head and stepped back under the water, leaving the curtain open.

"So you're okay?" He managed.

"I've been in that bed too long."

"Don't overdo it."

"Are you joining me or what?"

"Speaking of overdoing it -"

"I'm taking a shower, not summitting any mountains."

He hadn't had a wash yet and never had it held quite this much appeal. He pulled off this tshirt.

"This is divine." She stretched out her neck against the hot water. "Why didn't I do this days ago?"

"Because you couldn't hold yourself upright." He stepped in, pulling the shower curtain closed to keep from flooding the bathroom further.

"Ah, you'd have helped me."

He smiled, then watched, transfixed, as she leaned back her head, the water cascading over her face, falling in sheets over her skin, splitting and sluicing around the contours of her body.

She opened her eyes, wondering why he was still standing at the other end of the bath. "What?"

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful in all my life."

She scoffed, but couldn't keep from smiling. "Is it the bags under my eyes or the faint whiff of stomach acid?"

He stepped up to her, finally reaching out. "You have no idea."

She slipped her arms around him, glad of his solid strength to lean on, and pulled him under the water. He tried to hold back. Now was hardly the time but this was too much. "I'm sorry." He said. "Just ignore it."

She shook her head, kissed his chest, leaned into him. "There's more than one way to – ah, I'm too far gone for euphemisms."

"_You're_ too far gone?"

Rolling her hip against him, soft, warm and wet, she spoke into his shoulder. "In a different way to how you're far gone."

"You're incredible." He pressed his face to her hair, hands slipping across her body, adoring. Kissing her neck, he worked his way down to her shoulder. "This is still my favourite." He said, then groaned and came.

She moved against him till his breathing slowed. He held her tight, close, until the water started to cool.

"Oh, we'd better -" she said and turned them around so that he was closer to the water and she could get out. "You might want to grab the soap before there's no hot water left to wash it off."

* * *

He found her half-clothed, sitting at the dressing table with the hair dryer blowing. She smiled at him in the mirror and watched him slip off his towel, rub his head, look in his rucksack and don fresh clothes. "You're staying?" She asked, putting aside the hair dryer.

He sat down on the bed, pulling on socks. "If you'll have me."

She needn't answer that again. "But you're actually – I mean – does Niamh know?"

He nodded.

"Does everyone know?"

"I doubt it." He looked at her in the mirror. "I can still move back to the Egan's, but while you're not well I'm staying here."

She turned to see him more closely. "Not that I want you to go."

He got up and sat beside her. He was going to say something but thought better of it and kissed her instead. She rested her head on his shoulder. He said. "How are you feeling?"

"Heavy. Claustrophobic. I want to go downstairs for breakfast."

"You want breakfast?"

"We'll see."

* * *

"She's back?" Padraig called, on hearing Peter speak to Assumpta in the kitchen.

"She's not." Assumpta yelled in reply.

Peter raised his eyebrows at the accounts on the kitchen table.

"Well I'm not back to him."

"You shouldn't be back at all. None of this is urgent."

"What would you know?"

For all her bravado she flaked before lunch. After the usual crowd dispersed Father Mac came in.

"I heard Miss Fitzgerald's been unwell." No more Mrs McGarvey; this was progress, but Peter waited for more, for further proof of good intent. The priest hadn't taken a seat yet, perhaps he wasn't planning to stay.

"She's a little better today." Peter offered.

Father Mac nodded. "I'm glad to hear it." He looked at Peter earnestly and then sat. "Not something catching, I take it. You are faring well?"

"I'm fine." Peter's reply was fast, unconsidered.

"Ah."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Whiskey, please."

Peter poured. "Two fifty."

"I know. Are you sure there's nothing the matter?"

Peter gulped under Father Mac's ceaseless observation.

"Food poisoning, was it?"

Peter sighed.

"Or something more, shall we say, permanent?"

Peter huffed, shook his head. Unbelievable. So much for being careful with all these vulnerable reputations. So much for good intent.

"I'm not here to scold. I thought you might need a confidential ear, and perhaps one more worldly than our newest curate."

"She's not pregnant."

Father Mac downed the rest of his whiskey. "Then why do you look like you're about to be eaten alive?"

Peter gritted his teeth. Was it that obvious?

"You're hardly overrun. We can do this up at St Joseph's. We can go for a walk. Or you can come find me, another day."

Peter shook his head, eyes on the door. "She was."

"Ah." No surprise at all.

"It was in the, ah, tube. It was over before it began. Well, almost."

Father Mac clearly didn't understand.

"There was no choice but to, ah-" he should just say it, break the spell.

Father Mac's eyes widened for the briefest moment but he'd been doing this for too many years to look really surprised. After a silence he asked. "Do you think you're being punished?"

Peter looked him in the eye, at last. "No."

"Good."

"I don't know what I think."

Father Mac nodded, waited.

"I don't know what to say."

"To Assumpta?"

"I mean in prayer."

"Ah. Well, allow me." Father Mac lowered his gaze. "Our Father in heaven."


	23. Chapter 23

Assumpta was sleeping when he went up. He got ready for bed with only the hall light for guidance. Knowing the way in the dark was one of those things a person could only manage in their own home. He switched off the light and made his way to bed, hands outstretched for hazards. He found Assumpta's foot and she stirred.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight." He got under the covers.

She reached out for him. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"Taking care of everything."

He doubted she'd be so grateful when he told her he'd talked to Father Mac. But it was late, he was tired, that conversation could wait till tomorrow.

* * *

Assumpta was coming out of the fog of illness. She watched Peter while he sliced banana onto his cereal, noticing how tired he looked. "I can manage this morning," she said, "Don't worry, I'll sit down most of the time. You should take a break."

"No, no. I'm alright."

"A walk, or a nap, something. Just for an hour or two."

"I don't want to leave you on your own, not yet."

"Well too bad. I'm kicking you out."

He laughed.

"Go on."

"Assumpta."

"An hour. Go on."

"But I don't need to do anything."

She just looked at him.

"Are you sending me to church?"

"Doesn't seem right, does it?"

"You're an enigma." He leaned across the table and kissed her. "An hour. And you'll know where I am, in case."

"In case, ah, sure. It's one hour. I'm really feeling much better."

"I know. But you don't know how it throws me seeing you like that."

"Don't I?" She cocked her head to the side.

He nodded, realising that she knew better than anyone.

* * *

Father Mac came in amidst a small crowd. Assumpta let him look for Peter, let him wait, till all the others had been served. "Father." She turned to him at last.

"Assumpta, is Peter around?"

She shook her head, not about to give away exactly where he was. She hadn't arm-twisted him into taking the morning off so that he could be hijacked by Father Mac.

The priest inched away from her other patrons. "I wonder if I could have a word."

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for his _word._

"Somewhere more private?"

She had no desire to do this but relented, a bundle of disbelief as she closed the kitchen door, shutting herself in that haven with Father MacAnally.

"I wanted to pass on this." He held out a business card.

Her first thought was that it had something to do with the release from Peter's vows. A moment later she looked at it – a counselling service, specialising in family and bereavement. Her look of confusion was question enough.

"In case you need someone to talk to." Father Mac said.

"What?"

"They're not a religious group. In fact they're not my cup of tea at all but I thought that alone might be an indication they could be just your, well," he faltered and she realised to what he referred.

She steeled, refusing to let him see her horror – Peter had discussed this private thing with Father Mac! "Right." She said.

"He has a place to take all this." Father Mac did not say the rest of the sentence, that Assumpta did not have a place to take it.

Before she replied, or even knew what to make of it, he left.

Peter returned all a fluster. "I think I might have forgotten to turn off the -" he raced into the kitchen. "Oh, thank god." He stood in the doorway, shaking his head. "It's a wonder you trust me at all."

She didn't respond, finishing the task at hand, pulling a pint.

He watched her and waited, but before they had a moment he spotted a customer with an empty glass and offered a refill. When he was done, Assumpta had moved on and then the lunch crowd descended. Peter put her mien down to tiredness and stepped up close when he next got a chance. "Go on, your dead on your feet."

"I'm fine. I don't need -" she stopped herself. No one was paying them any attention, but she'd rather it stayed that way. "I'm fine."

"It'll quieten down shortly."

She nodded and spotted something to do. Just as it did quieten down the barrel ran dry.

"I'll go." Peter moved quickly.

Assumpta offered the customer a bottle instead.

"Ah, sure, why not. I'll take it with me."

When he was gone she poured herself a coke for the sake of her energy levels and leaned on the door frame.

The pub was deserted but only for a moment. She watched the door, summoning a friendly, or at least professional, manner. But this customer would hardly appreciate it: it was a black bear.


	24. Chapter 24

Assumpta dropped her glass. The door fell quietly shut behind the bear, who gracefully lifted its paws up onto the bar. She shrunk back though she tried to stay perfectly still, then heard Peter clunking around downstairs. "Peter?"

He didn't hear her and she dare not speak up.

The bear had no such qualms and growled.

Assumpta caught sight of a crisp packet, reached out slowly. As she tore it open Peter popped his head up out of the trapdoor. "What in the name of-" His eyes went wide.

She tossed the crisp packet at the bar and the bear was momentarily distracted. She turned to Peter. "Go out the other way. Call Ambrose."

"Ambrose?"

"Well, what do you suggest?"

"Another packet of crisps."

She looked back at the bear, who seemed bigger every moment. She threw the second packet of crisps to the bar and started on a third, aiming it slightly further afield.

"I'm not leaving you up there."

"Oh, you're going to wrestle a bear for me, are you?"

"Come down here."

"I think I'd rather toss packets of crisps over to him than let him fend for himself. The place will be a right off." She threw another bag over.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Alright, I'm coming down." She took a step toward him and the bear reared, roaring. She stopped and he calmed down. She opened packet after packet of crisps, tossing them over faster than the animal could eat them, but she was fast running out. The last one hit the closest edge of the bar and fell back toward her. She was out of time. The bear growled, the bar shook and Assumpta tripped down the ladder, landing on Peter in a heap at the bottom. He clambered out from under her, stepped up and slammed shut the trapdoor.

She stood, rubbing her elbow which must have caught one of the steps, and caught his eye.

He shook his head, laughed, and caught her up in a tight embrace.

"Ah ah." She shrugged him off. "Why is there a bear in my bar?"

"The beast of ballykay."

"What?"

"I thought it was a fairy story."

"Oh, some fairy story. Aren't they meant to come with happy endings?"

He smiled at her, she was fine. She'd faced a bear and she was unscathed. He went to hug her again but she ducked out of the way and started shifting the boxes that sat in the way of the back entrance.

"Good thing we're not relying on this for a fire exit." He hauled the boxes she'd moved to the side, where they'd be well out of the way.

She didn't say a word, marching off up to the street. He followed her toward the phone box but as soon as her destination was evident, stopped. He approached the accommodation entrance, held his ear to the glass.

All he could hear was Assumpta yelling, "Yes, it's an emergency."

Peter inched open the door. He couldn't see anything so he stuck his head in, just to see. The bear wasn't in the bar now. He went inside, ears pricked for anything.

Nothing, nothing at all.

And then the roar was deafening, and right behind him.

He froze, then slowly turned his head, just enough that he could glimpse the black beast on the very edge of his vision.

"Peter?" Assumpta called from outside.

He tried to remember if the door had closed behind him, a mantra of 'Don't come in' repeating frantically in his head.

"Peter?" She asked again, and the different sound of her voice made it clear she was already part-way in.

"Stay out!" He said, fast and fierce and waited for the bear's wrath. The growl came but not as deafening or as terrifying as the first.

"Oh my god." Assumpta said, closing the door.

Peter spotted the chocolate bars. If he could just reach them, he could tear them open, one after another. There were loads of them. Crisps went better with a pint. He couldn't see the bear any more. Slowly, very slowly, he turned, backed toward the bar, reached for the box. The bear watched. Peter would feel so much better if he was standing behind the bar, but the less he moved the better.

One chocolate bar after another. The bear seemed to get more angry if he threw them further away, and one time he accidentally hit the bear with the flying confectionery – that certainly wasn't a good idea. And so the chocolates fell, bit by bit, closer and closer to where Peter stood.

"What in hell are you thinking?" Assumpta came up through the basement.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, daring to throw the next chocolate slightly further away.

"Siobhan and Ambrose are outside, plotting to kill that thing."

"Oh God."

"You too?"

"What?"

"Father Aidan fancies himself a bit of a doctor dolittle as well."

Peter backed up. "You should get out of here."

"Like hell."

And then in came Father Aidan, closely followed by Donal, who apparently owned this beast. The mad priest started staying something in Latin, hands out as if blessing the beast. The bear cowed, bowed and offered it's neck for a rub, as if it were a contented pup. "She is lovely Donal." Father Aidan had captured the bear's attention.

Peter took a deep breath, marvelling at what he'd just witnessed. He still moved around behind the bar, careful to make no sudden movements.

"I'm going to kill you." Assumpta said under her breath, still watching Father Aidan and the bear.

"What?"

"What were you thinking, coming in here?"

"I looked in, I couldn't see him."

"Her." Donal corrected. "Suzie."

Peter shook his head, "I thought she might have gone out the other door."

"I am going to kill you." Assumpta said, but she was starting to catch her breath. "What was that?"

"Mass." Peter said.

"You could have done that?"

He shook his head.

Donal sidled up to them. "Sorry about that."

"It's him you should be killing." Peter smiled at Assumpta.

Donal looked apologetic smiled.

"If I've any energy left after I'm done with you, perhaps I will."


	25. Chapter 25

"Is this – " Doc Ryan fingered the bar, "Good God, it is."

"What?" Assumpta put his beer on the bar and started on the next. Everyone had come to see the spectacle and they'd stayed to drink a beer after the more dangerous bear had departed. Fine by her, but busier than she'd dealt with in some time. And she still wasn't feeling a hundred percent, but if she could manage no one would notice that.

"I think your friend left his mark." Doc Ryan was still looking at the bar.

She put down the drink and leaned over. There were scratch marks on the bar. "Her mark." She corrected, since Donal wasn't there to do it. The man was drowning his sorrows in the far corner, telling tales of his beloved bear as if this was a wake.

"You're very lucky." The Doc made to move away.

"Aren't I?"

Peter laughed at her potent sarcasm. She turned away.

* * *

"There are paw prints on the bar." Peter informed her later, up to his elbows in dishwater, though she still had a few punters going for long distance records on their last orders.

"Just a scratch."

He shook his head, "I still don't believe it."

"And you a man of faith."

"No, I meant – never mind."

She went back to the bar, returning with the last of the empties once she'd locked up.

"You alright?" He asked when she avoided eye contact, again.

"Tired."

"Of me?"

She sighed, looked at him. "Did you forget, or just didn't dare tell me for fear I'd have your head?"

"What have I forgotten?"

"So you just forgot?"

He looked utterly confused, then apologetic, then frustrated, and finally hurt. "What?"

"Father Mac popped in earlier."

"What did he say?" He turned his anger on the older priest.

"Not a lot. Gave me the phone number for a counselling service. Just in case."

His eyes went wide, "I told Father Mac."

She exhaled sharply and shook her head. "You forgot."

"I didn't want to keep you up last night."

"When has that stopped you?"

He looked at her seriously. "And then this morning it just went right out of my head."

"Yeah, I get it. You forgot. It happens."

He gritted his teeth. "What did he say to you?"

"Hardly a thing. The point is what you said to him."

"He half-guessed. I didn't plan to tell him. I needed to tell someone, I suppose. He was – I don't know. He's not all bad."

"I know." She crossed the room but stopped before touching him. "I know. Brendan's not exactly available for confession, and on this of all topics, and Father O'Connell's a bit, ah, fresh." She picked up a tea towel. "You can always confide in me."

He gave his sudsy hands a haphazard dry-off on his trousers then hugged her tight. After a moment's surprise and another moment's futile grasping at her rage, she gave in and put her arms around him. "You can tell me, you know, even the stuff I'll never agree with or understand."

"Okay." He loosened his hold on her, kissed her hair, then let her go. "But the only thing I said to him, that I haven't said to you, was," he shook his head, "you seemed to pick it up anyway, sending me off like you did this morning."

She waited, not wanting to put words in his mouth.

"It's not that I can't pray – it's just, I don't know how to even begin, how to ask or answer anything. I get half way through saying words I've said a thousand times and then realise I don't mean them, not really, not now." He sighed, reached out for her hand. "I want to but I can't quite manage it. And this is what those old prayers are there for, for when you don't know what to say otherwise, but I get stuck no matter, on the old ones or my own bumbling attempts at – "

"Oh Peter." She reached up and hugged him, pushing away every response that came to mind.

"I know it will pass." He leaned into her. "I hope it will pass. Knowing anything at all with any certainty feels a bit out of reach, to be honest."

She held his face between her hands, kissed his forehead, an eye brow, his nose, a lip, his chin. "Know that I love you."

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. He kissed her before it escaped. She pushed her hands up under his shirt and pulled him closer. He tried to keep a little distance, distracting her with dizzying kisses, but she wouldn't be kept at bay.

"Let's call it a night." She said, breath haggard, then kissed him again.

"There isn't much more here." He pulled away but she stepped in, her hip going up against him just right. He took a sharp breath. "You are barely recovered. This isn't a good idea."

"It's an excellent idea." She pulled the plug from the sink. "Trust me."

"Assumpta-" he warned.

"I'm sure. Alright?" She switched off the light.

He stood in the dregs of street light and moon light, and watched her. She was waiting for him. Remarkable. He nodded once and followed her upstairs.

"I feel I should clarify," she sat on the bed to take off her shoes. "This is not some kind of a reward."

"I didn't think it was," He sat beside her, already half-undressed, and reached over to kiss his neck. "I do now, though." He couldn't resist.

She stood up fast and he fell into the gap. Then dizziness hit her. She leaned on the wall, room spinning.

"You alright?" He was on his feet, at her side, instantly.

"Just dizzy." She sat on the bed, then lay down. "It's nothing. Low blood pressure."

"You have low blood pressure?" He switched off the light and tugged the covers out from under her.

"Just now, it's no surprise."

He lay on his side, watching her closely. "You should rest."

She propped herself up, "It's a miracle really, my blood pressure isn't through the roof with you – "

He kissed her. She tried to pull away, to finish her rant, but he put his weight into her and rolled her back, his arms wending around her. "I'll do my best," he said, lifting her shirt. He pressed his face to her breast, kissing the underside as he scooped his hands beneath her and tugged off her pants.

"There's a good man." She shifted, aiding his undressing.


	26. Chapter 26

It was rare she woke before him. It was rare she woke and didn't immediately long to go back to sleep. That morning she watched him stir, open his eyes for a fraction of a second and then close them again. A moment later her reached out for her with sleep-heavy arms, pulling her in as much as pulling himself closer. His breaths continued deep and even, as if he were still asleep. She relaxed against him and heard the change. Now, surely he was awake.

"Is it a surprise, ever morning?" She asked, quietly, just in case he'd fooled her.

He half-laughed. "Not every morning."

She squeezed him then rolled back to see his face. "You'll be late."

His eyebrows rose then understanding settled them. "No, no. No hurry. We don't open till after eleven."

"_We_ don't."

"Maybe next week."

She didn't want to push but a little nudge, perhaps. "I'll go with you."

"What?"

She shrugged. "I'm not dressing up, but I'll go."

"You don't need to."

"You're discouraging me from going to church?"

He laughed, but barely, shaking his head. "Alright."

* * *

"She locked up while he stood, looking out at the street. People were arriving for church. If ever the general populace were going to cotton on to their living arrangement, it was right now.

Assumpta took his hand and he felt the stone of her ring against the centre of his palm. After a few steps up the hill he spoke. "How long has it been?"

She thought about it, blowing out a breath. "Weddings and funerals aside, eight years, I suppose."

He nodded.

"Are you really alright?" She couldn't shake the feeling his world was collapsing and she just couldn't see it.

He turned to her. "I will be."

"And all this?" She nodded toward the church, from which organ music echoed ominously.

"I don't know. I've never been here before. There's no way I can know. What if – I can't believe enough to pray. What if that doesn't change?"

"Well, I'm no expert, but I've little idea _what_ I believe, except that it's not much, and still I've prayed – for you. For what it's worth."

He slowed, then stopped. They were just steps from the door. He squeezed her hand but his features belied much emotion.

An older woman walked past and shook her head at them with a tsk that was meant to be heard, but perhaps they weren't meant to know so.

Assumpta watched Peter. "We can go."

He shook his head and tugged her inside, losing his determination as soon as they passed the threshold. She made for a back pew and he followed without question. Father Aidan was brief, not quite poetic but careful in his choices of words, thoughtful. He certainly noticed his most distant congregants.

And they certainly noticed the regular turned heads, the numerous, not-so-surreptitious glances their way.

On the invitation to go forward to receive Mass, Assumpta let go of Peter's hand, expecting him to get up. He hesitated but went. She watched, unable to tear her eyes away, as he bent his head in front of Father O'Connell, for a blessing, no wafer or wine, just a swipe of the hand, a few mumbled words.

Perhaps it was for the best. If this God couldn't stand up to this then he didn't deserve Peter's devotion.

Did she, though?

The question came out of nowhere, but the answer sprung to her lips and she put a hand to her mouth to keep from saying, 'no,' aloud.

All of this was so far beyond her, so far beyond them both. Peter caught her eye as he walked up the aisle, smiling bravely.

She pressed her lips together, tried to smile, then looked past him and caught the scowl on Kathleen Hendley's face.

She gritted her teeth, stared the older woman down.

Peter sat. "It's nearly over." He took her hand then turned to see what Assumpta was looking at. He sighed. "We have nothing to prove."

She dragged her gaze from Kathleen's glare and looked up at Peter. It wasn't much of a smile but it grew readily on her lips. "I know." She let it wash over her, again, this remarkable thing, this huge step he'd taken, this path they'd started down – terrifying but so very good. "I love you."

He smiled. "I know." He cocked his head to the side. "Look around you."

"I'd rather not."

Father O'Connell began again and shortly after that it was all over. The priest smiled at them as he passed.

Getting up to follow, joining the rest of the modest congregation, seemed too difficult. So they sat in silence, ignored the staring passers-by, waited them out. Then the church was empty but for them, and it was over, so relief was to be expected – inevitable. But Assumpta hadn't expected such peace. Was this what it was like for him, well, when it worked?

No, he didn't think of it like that – it wasn't a trick that worked or didn't. It was a way of life, a whole perspective shift, and it might not dress in certain robes and follow a calendar, but the constant awareness of, and acknowledgement of, a benevolent creator – of course it wasn't easy. She could barely keep it up for five minutes without doubt choking her. Peter had kept it up for a decade, and in the front lines too.

"It's less then eight years." He broke her reverie.

"Huh?"

"You came up here during the festival, that first year I was here. You got brained for your troubles, but you came."

She shook her head, "I was hiding from the crowds."

"Sure, but you were hiding here."

"Yeah, well."

He sat back in his seat. "Sometimes I was so sure. I felt things that were so real." He shrugged, "At the time. None of it stands up to good critical thought later. I don't know, maybe it does. I find it easy to poke holes."

A dip of her eyebrows acknowledged she did too, as if she needed to acknowledge it.

"Maybe I just wanted to believe and all this spun a kind of placebo effect spell."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's real. Maybe I didn't want to believe and God doesn't feel like he's got anything to prove."

He smiled. "Shall we?"

She watched him. He didn't look like he wanted to get up. But there was the pub to open, and there was the hope that facing the public might be best like a fast-pulled bandaid. She stood up and leaned on the pew in front of them, facing Peter.

Father Aidan stepped into the church and then said sorry for interrupting them. Peter stood and Assumpta shook her head, no apology necessary.

"Actually," the priest stepped toward them, a bundle of nerves, "I had a letter to pass on. Father Mac left it with me and – I'll just change and get it. Can you wait a moment?"

"Sure." Peter said, looking to Assumpta but not waiting for permission.

Once Aidan was out of earshot, Assumpta said, "A referral to the psych ward for your increasingly-mad lady-friend?"

Peter tried not to laugh and failed, catching her eye. "Oh, I love you."

She must be glowing for all the effort it took to keep from grinning outright. "How long does it take to disrobe? The punters are waiting."

"It's faster without assistance, in my meagre experience."

She shook her head. "In a church!"

"I've never tried it with assistance in a church, but I doubt it makes much difference."

"It's amazing you didn't get kicked out long ago."

"I thought so."

Aidan returned to find them laughing but it didn't seem to relax him. They quietened and turned to meet him in the aisle. He held out an ordinary envelope. "There you go."

Peter took it and looked at Father MacAnally's penmanship - just a name, Peter Clifford.

"Right." Aidan stepped toward the door, then stopped, "Unless, ah, well would you like to stay, or - "

"Oh, no we'd better open the pub."

"You know where to find me."

"Just open it, Peter." Assumpta stopped him.

He could barely read for skipping ahead and was blinking far more than necessary. Assumpta watched him rather than reading the page, though it was right there and it would have been all too easy.

The Priest spoke, "Father MacAnally said he hoped it might help, that he'd done everything he could. I don't know why he didn't give it to you himself, but there it is."

"Thank you." Peter managed, then met Assumpta's gaze and smiled. It grew in jerks and starts, the knowledge sinking in. "I'm free." He said at last, shining.

Seeing him happy like that, and knowing why, she could have laughed and cried at the same time. She twisted her mouth to keep from doing either, right there in front of Father Aidan. She satisfied herself with looking him in the eye and nodding.

"Well, if you want to speak with me, about anything, you know where I am." Father Aidan backed toward the door. "And there's no hurry just now."

"Thank you." Peter folded the page but didn't put it back in the envelope. "No, we'd better go. Thank you for this."

"Wasn't my doing."

Peter nodded and led the way out.

Assumpta smiled at the priest and followed. Peter paused till she caught up and then took her hand with a fierce grip and a wonderful sigh, holding up the letter for her to take. "Not exactly a work of art, but perhaps we can stick it on the fridge."

She laughed and opened the fold. "So that's what the Vatican letterhead looks like."

He pulled her close, though they kept walking. "I'm free."


	27. Chapter 27

Peter slid two bottles along the bar and made a note on the list in front of him. "I've been thinking." He began.

"Uh oh." Assumpta kept on working, pulling the bottles out of the back of the fridge.

He sighed. She wasn't going to like this. If only he'd prepared a speech. "I was wondering, now that you're well and things are settling down a bit, maybe, just until, we'll, things are sorted, I might move back to Niamh and Ambrose's."

She steeled her expression, resisting the urge to react right away. She stood up straight, leaving the fridge door wide open. Peter needn't know what she thought before she did herself. This was about his faith, but it was also about his morality and so it _was_ about her. And those things that needed sorting had squared off very recently - her marriage to Leo was all that remained. Nearly all that remained. "You do feel bad then?" She rushed on, before he could answer, "Sometimes. Be honest. Even in passing, sometimes?"

He nodded slowly. "But in passing and it's not, we'll, it's just, it's something to consider."

"Consider?"

He gulped. "I don't think it should, I don't think it _will_ change a thing, but that's not to say it won't."

She nodded, longing to better understand this part of him and, at the same time, resisting any interest in the subject – the war within her was exhausting. "Do what you need to do, Peter." She lay her hand on his chest and caught sight of his mother's ring, with all it promised.

"I know." He covered her hand before she could withdraw it. "I'm a right pain in the-"

"Yeah, but you can't help it."

* * *

The first night was strange but she slept fine, better perhaps, undisturbed entirely. The second was difficult. Peter had been his usual self, working away, all day and all evening. His usual professional economy infuriated her when she knew he'd leave at last orders, or before if it was quiet, like tonight had been. He'd opened shop, insistent that he'd be up anyway, she might as well lie in as not. She'd come down to find him preparing veggies for the stew – almost as if he'd not moved out at all.

The third night she was woken from what could barely be called sleep, that fitful restless wrestle with the sheets that couldn't possibly be due solely to the absence of one Peter Clifford. The smash of glass roused her but she didn't wake properly till an engine revved, downright obnoxiously, and gunned it out of town. Then she reacted, processing that someone, at last, had taken a bottle or a brick to her front windows; one way to protest the inhabitance of an ex- (though they probably didn't know it) priest therein.

Only he wasn't therein. She got up, hesitated with a thought to her own safety, then heard Ambrose say, loud and clear, "He's gone. Long gone."

She shot down stairs, pulling on her jeans as she went. Stepping outside she saw Peter come out onto the street. Niamh followed, then Kiaran cried and she went back inside. Assumpta followed Peter's line of sight – a front window of the garda house, not the pub, was in shards where it remained in the frame, and plenty of it did not.

Ambrose played detective. Assumpta saw the dazed look on Peter's face and walked over, all too aware of the other nearby residents who'd come out to see what all the fuss was about. But it wasn't until Ambrose said, "And none of it hit you?" that she registered – it was Peter's window smashed by vandels.

"I'm fine." Peter said, shaking his head. He turned to Assumpta. "I guess someone doesn't like me so much after all."

"You or me?" She looked from him to the broken window.

"This wasn't aimed at you." Ambrose pointed to the mess but Niamh came out with a fussing baby.

Before any of them saw what Ambrose was pointing at, Assumpta ushered Niamh and Kiaran toward the pub, giving Peter a pleading look. "I've plenty of room. Come on."

Ambrose told everyone else to go back to bed and without any urgency they did so.

"I'd better stay here tonight." Ambrose called after Niamh, before she crossed the pub threshold.

"What?" She stopped then handed the baby to Peter and went to talk to her husband.

Kiaran hushed. Assumpta smirked. "Cup o' tea?"

Peter looked dazed still but nodded and followed her inside.

"Oh, that man!" Niamh stormed in only moments later and snatched Kiaran.

Assumpta set the tea things on the table and pulled out a seat for Niamh.

"No, I'd better try to settle this fella – Oh, he'll need his things. I'll be right back." She dumped the baby with Peter again.

Assumpta watched him. "Are you alright?"

He looked down, scarcely believing he was unscathed. "Another lucky escape."

"Or a sign."

That got a smile. "That I'm better off with you, here? Only until these – only until they realise I'm here and then you're in danger too." His tone turned to anger, "I really thought – I mean how stupid can I get? I thought we were in the clear."

"There's that unshakable faith in you humanity we all know and love."

"Except for the unshakable part."

She turned off the element and filled the teapot.

Niamh returned with a thank-you and reached out for the now half-asleep Kiaran. "You've the touch. Shame I haven't a weatherproof room to trade for the service.

He gave her a wry look.

Assumpta twisted open the milk. "Tea?"

"No, I'll try to sleep." Niamh bobbed a little, rocking Kiaran. "Take advantage."

"Night." Peter smiled at Kiaran then turned his eyes to his cup of tea, the milk a swirl as Assumpta poured.

"What did they throw?" She asked.

"I didn't see." Peter looked up as she sat down. "It landed on the bed beside me and the glass with it."

"And not a scratch to show."

"Not a fresh one. What are we going to do?"

"What?"

He looked pained.

"We're going to finish our tea and go to bed – separate beds."

He nodded once and held her gaze. "And if we have to leave?"

She shook her head at that, then shrugged. If it had to happen, fine. She'd leave with him, if it was necessary. But it wasn't necessary now. Not yet.

His shoulders sagged.

She leaned forward in her chair, put her hands on his knees. "I can do you better than tea, you know. I've a handy profession.

He smiled at that, catching her eye. He put his cup down and leaned into her her, resting his head where it landed, just south of her shoulder. Before he had a chance to pull away or reposition she put her arms around him. He relaxed a moment later, then raised himself just enough to kiss that favourite spot. "Bed." He said simply, but made no move to get up.

She kissed the very edge of his hair line, where it had probably begun to recede a little of late. "Tell me something."

"Mm."

"Are we keeping our distance till we get married, or just until I'm not?"

He slipped his arms around her, glorying in her warm, soft, living body and kissed the first bit of bare skin he could reach above the collar of her t-shirt. "Don't ask me tough questions – after the ordeal I've been through."

"Don't kiss me like – oh, go on." She let her head fall back and he shifted forward in his chair, knees pressing up the insides of her thighs as his open mouth burned a trail up her neck.

"Let's just aim for a - " He forcibly removed himself from the circle of her being, "tonight. Each day has trouble enough of its own."

"Mother of God, did you just quote an apostle at me?"

He shook his head, "Son of God. But you were close."

She stood up and cleared the tea things. He returned the milk to the fridge then, seeing she was done, switched off the light. "Where do you want me?"

"Well - " she smiled, then saw his utter lack of humour and stepped across to him. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He nodded. "Other than the minor concern that being with me might cost you everything you've ever worked for or called home?"

"Ah, well, _that_ I know about. But I've no secret cure, I'm afraid." She led the way out to the accommodation foyer and grabbed a key.

"Is that what you think you've done?"

She held out a key. "It's not a matter of perception."

"Oh yes it is." He spread his hand so his palm touched her cheek first, his fingers just combing into her hair. "I've more than the priesthood. It doesn't look like much, I know, but that's not how I see this. If the cost of loving you felt high it was only until -"

She put her fingers to his lips. "Okay."

"You mustn't feel guilty." He spoke against her hand.

"Is that right?"

"You mustn't trust the feeling then."

She let her hand drop from his mouth. "Sleep well."

His nod was barely perceptible. She looked at his lips but did not kiss him. She looked to his eyes and though words tugged at her lips, she didn't say she loved him, but it was there in the look – and more so, perhaps, in the resisted kiss.

* * *

Bet you all thought I'd done a runner. Well, I did take off to Italy for a few weeks (can you blame me?), but I'm back. And there's another Roomies chapter to go up in the next day or so too. Happy rentrée!


	28. Chapter 28

Peter stopped to stretch, after rolling out the fifth barrel and remembered a conversation he'd had once with Assumpta, just after he'd first arrived in Ballyk. "Keeps you fit." He'd said, watching her without reservation – that had been before he'd any reason for reserve. For a moment he longed for the simplicity of that time, a time when he might be woken to give last rights but at least needn't fear for his own safetly, or Assumpta's. But then he saw the words sprawled in spray paint across the garda house.

Ambrose, not Peter, was the target. Not Assumpta, but the gard. Relief hit hard, but Peter resisted the urge to go back inside, to rouse Assumpta with the good news, tempting though the prospect was. Too tempting. He strode over the road and knocked on the door. Ambrose yawned on opening it.

"Are you alright?" Peter spoke first.

"I could ask you the same thing. Can I charge the lowlife with assault? Not that I prefer you to be injured."

"I'm not. Sorry." Peter smiled. "You know who it is?"

"I've an idea. Is Niamh up yet?"

"Just me."

"Right. Well, I've a report to start on, phone calls, you name it."

Peter left him to it.

* * *

He inched open Assumpta's bedroom door then stopped at the sight, hair falling across her face like that and one bare leg sticking out toward him, as if offering directions. As if he needed directions.

How things had changed. Once upon a time he'd badly needed directions but he knew her now. Truly knew her.

And he knew himself. Assumpta, barely-dressed and in the bone-less languor of barely-awake, was not something he could resist, not before breakfast. So he made breakfast and ate, and then Niamh came down and he fed Kiaran while she wolfed down her cereal. Kiaran swiped jam across Peter's shirt so Niamh took the bab and Peter spot-cleaned himself at the kitchen sink. He put on the kettle again and started on the dishes while it warmed.

"Ah, would you look at who knows _just_ the way I like it?" Assumpta stepped up to the threshold, then saw Niamh and cringed. "Sorry." She bit back a laugh.

Niamh shook her head. Peter looked from the one to the other, blushing.

"Innocence is bliss." Niamh said to Kiaran, bobbing on her knee. "I suppose I should go check on Ambrose, make sure he hasn't taped his eyes open."

"He's up. I saw him earlier."

"Did he sleep t'all?"

"I think I may have woken him."

Assumpta nodded her head toward Peter but spoke to Niamh. "He's a morning person."

Niamh laughed and left.

With all the grace of a zombie, Assumpta made the tea. "Want some, or have you moved onto the hard stuff?" She shook off one of the freshly washed cups.

"Just tea, thanks, though Ambrose might like a little something in his coffee – turns out they were aiming for him."

"What?"

Peter nodded.

"Why?"

"Not sure, but there's no doubt about it. He's on the case. And meanwhile, no one was hurt and we needn't live in fear of a lynching."

"Well, that's something – but you're not going back there."

"The glass can be cleared up, a couple of boards fixed in place, no problem."

"Peter -"

He smiled at her concern. "I'll corner Brendan. Niamh can stay on here but I'd better, ah," he nodded his head toward the way out.

"Did you come up earlier? I thought I heard you."

He nodded.

"Testing your limits."

"Not on purpose. I wanted to tell you we were in the clear."

"Not being hunted down."

He nodded. "But you're quite lovely," He paused on seeing the way his words took her by surprise. "You are. You mean so much to me and I want to get this right."

She nodded, words being entirely too difficult.

"And I think I know my limits. They're about - " he stepped a good two feet away from her, "here." He stepped closer again.

She raised her eyebrows.

"I know. I'm gone beyond."

She lifted her face to kiss him. "Good. I like the company."

"Here, or beyond?"

"I'll take what I can get."

He looked at his watch. "I'm all yours till eleven, boss."

"Well in that case," she gave him a wicked smirk, "better go find yourself a place to live before the crowds descend."

"There'll be crowds today, will there?"

"I'm hoping."

He paused but didn't voice his concerns about their takings these past few weeks. "Won't be long, with any luck." He kissed her cheek and left.

* * *

Brendan was overseeing a PhysEd lesson from a distance.

"I was hoping you wouldn't be busy." Peter joined him, looking at the paper over the teacher's shoulder.

"I've a talent for looking that way, but I'm fooling you all. I'm teaching P.E. Look at them."

"Who?"

Brendan turned fast to check his class were still there, playing their variation on netball.

"Gotcha."

"Yeah yeah. You know they manage perfectly well when I'm out of reach, but when I'm in easy distance it's all, Mr Kearney, so and so kicked my toe, and Mr Kearney, so and so hit the ball to hard – too hard? Did you ever hear such-"

"So, I was wondering if you'd heard what happened last night?"

"Oh, right, yeah, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Well, except I'm homeless. Don't suppose your spare room would be available for a very reasonable rate?"

"You'd pay me?" Brendan considered it for a moment then shook his head. "Nah, it's not worth more than dish duty. Tiny bed, very cold and dark."

"It'll be perfect."

"I don't suppose the priesthood offered large, warm beds on a regular basis."

Peter shook his head with a smile, refusing to bite.

"I'm sure you could do better." Brendan tried again.

"That's not really the point though is it?"

"Oh, I don't know."

They faced off, eye to eye, till Brendan sighed. "Alright, it's all yours, but I should warn you, I'll take your rent in dishes and confessions. Oh, and a pint of stout, on the house, every night. I'm assuming you still work there even if you aren't living there."

"I do."

"So you were living there, then?"

"I didn't say that."

"It was implied."

"It was imagined. Surely you've got enough to keep you entertained without - what sport is this supposed to be?"

"Netball. And I'm insatiable."

"That right? Hey, I'd better get back, but thank you. And a pint on me, plus dish duty, is a deal."

"Don't forget the confessions."

"I don't take them any more."

"I wasn't asking you to take them."

"Good – because," Peter took a deep breath, "you may as well know, I suppose. It's all come through, the word from on high. I'm a free man."

"Wow, congratulations! Or, well, is it congratulations?"

Peter shrugged. "I'll take it."

"Good. I'm really glad for you. For both of you."

"Thanks."

"Takes courage. I mean, it is really and stupidly brave, but the right thing to do, in the end, I'd say. If it wasn't patronizing, I'd say I was proud of you."

Peter laughed. "Thanks. I'd really better get back."

The kids were yelling now. "Me too. See you later."

* * *

Hours later, Brendan leaned over the bar when Peter came near him. "I can't figure it out." The tipsy teacher said louder than he realised.

"It's your sixth beer Brendan. Surely the patterns of cause and effect are predictable by now."

"Ha, ha. No, I can't figure why you haven't told everyone."

Peter looked down the bar, wondering who else was hearing this, but it wasn't as though he had a good answer to the question. "It hasn't exactly come up."

"So make an announcement."

"You're doing it for me."

Brendan cleared his throat and spoke up, "Hear, hear!"

"Brendan!"

"_Mister_ Clifford here has an announcement to make."

"Are you going to ride in the race?" Doc Ryan asked.

Peter laughed and shook his head.

"Can you ride a horse?" Assumpta came through from the kitchen in time to hear the end of that.

He shook his head.

"What did I miss?" She asked.

"Not a thing." Brendan offered Peter an imaginary microphone. "You're just in time," his voice dropped, "on the off chance you need to be."

"Out with it, Father." Liam called out, "I mean, well, you know."

"Well, I suppose." Peter looked briefly to Assumpta and took Brendan's imaginary microphone.

Assumpta laughed then clapped a hand to her mouth. She was doing that far too readily these days.

"It's barely news." Peter began, "Not that it doesn't make a difference, but, well, it's all official. I'm no longer a priest."

Silence.

Assumpta pressed her lips together and watched Peter.

Brendan started a clap and Doc Ryan was the first to join in, then Siobhan and the rest got on board after that.

"It's a strange thing to celebrate." Padraig piped up, just as far in his cups as his friend.

Peter shrugged a little awkwardly at that.

Assumpta decided to give him an out. "You started early, go on." She said just loud enough for him to hear.

"You're kicking me out?"

"Just to the other side of the bar." She swatted him with a tea towel, speaking up. "I, for one, think it's something to celebrate so a round on the house and if you don't like it my prices just went up."

"Who said anything about not liking it?" Padraig put his empty on the bar.

Assumpta ignored it and poured Peter's drink first.


	29. Chapter 29

Peter opened, as per usual, to no customers. But he gave the place a good polish and then sat at the bar with the newspaper and a fresh cup of coffee.

Which is where Assumpta found him. "Quiet morning."

"No kidding."

She sighed and started to grind some beans.

"Is it serious?"

"It?"

"It's been quiet a lot lately."

She nodded but kept on making her coffee. Only when it was finished, down to a little frothy spiral in the steamed milk, did she turn to him. "It's not _not_ serious."

"Right."

She shrugged. "What do you suggest?"

"Festivals are the trick, aren't they?"

"This time of year?"

He folded the paper and put it aside. "How about a tournament? I'm up to date on current events, if nothing else. We'll challenge some Cilldargen pub to a battle of the bars."

She laughed, "We did do well that night."

He shook his head, though the memory had lost some of its sting.

"Well, _Fitzgerald's_ did well that night. You and I can make up for last time in the upcoming details-yet-to-be-announced, opponent yet to be found, extravaganza!" She pumped a fist weakly. "Did you get the mail?"

"On the kitchen table."

She went through to get it, talking as she went, "It's the race today, down the beach. That's why the place is deserted. I should have reminded you. There probably wasn't much point opening this morning."

"Oh, I forgot."

"Brendan not going?"

"He probably is. He wasn't up and about when I left."

She brought the small stack of envelopes and advertisements back to the bar, "Did you want to go?"

"I hadn't really thought about. But like you say, there won't be anyone around here. Might as well. Did you want to?"

"Not particularly. I'll take the day off." She smiled, perching on the stool beside Peter's. He pulled her coffee across so it sat in front of her. She discarded two envelopes then stopped and tore one open, eyes wide and hungry.

"What is it?"

A moment later she answered. "A decree nisi."

"A what?"

"One of the hoops." She was still reading, checking she didn't miss any thing. "The big one, I suppose."

"Ah." He watched her, resisting the urge to read over her shoulder. "So what next?"

"Six weeks of waiting and then, in theory, the final application for the final decree and then – and then." She cocked her head to the side, watching his face, then reached out for his hand.

He finally looked into her eyes. "And then you're free?"

She shook her head. "And then I'm marrying you."

He looked like he wanted to smile but lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it instead. She watched him, wondering how easy it would be to just seduce him, but no. Bad idea. "So, shall we go to the beach to celebrate?"

"What about your day off?"

"I'll have it at the beach."

* * *

"We should have brought a picnic." Peter stepped on the back of his shoe and wriggled his foot out."

"I'll buy you a hotdog. Your feet are going to freeze."

He whipped off his sock and stuffed it in the shoe, then grinned, sinking his feet into the cool sand. "You don't know what you're missing."

"I know exactly what I'm missing." Assumpta walked ahead, letting Fionn dictate the pace, while Peter removed his second shoe and rolled up his jeans.

He jogged to catch up. "You don't want to dip your toes in the sea?"

"In this sea? Once is enough."

He shook his head, smile unshakeable just now. She pulled Fionn back to her side and Peter patted him, "You can go mad once they've run. The Doc'd never forgive us if you spooked his horse."

Fionn ducked around behind Peter and trapped him in the leash. Assumpta just laughed, doing nothing to help, but her attention was drawn away by the sight of Niamh, walking along the beach, skirt twisted up in one hand, beside Sean Dillon, who was giving Kieran a ride on his shoulders.

"Ambrose still hunting down what's his face?" Assumpta said, handing the dog's leash to a tangled Peter.

"Expecting a face-off as we speak, I'm afraid."

"So he's being a martyr."

"He wants to protect his family."

"If you ever pull a stunt like that I'll cut you off."

"From the tap?"

She just looked at him, lips twitching to smile though she beat it.

"Right." He let Fionn tug him forward, on a short leash now.

Assumpta watched Niamh laugh and turn to walk backwards, facing Sean, waving to Kiaran. Dillon lifted the boy and swooped him into his mother's arms, then jogged off to talk to someone. Niamh spotted Assumpta and Peter then headed their way at Kiaran's pace.

Peter tied his shoe laces together as they walked. "You'd rather muddy up your shoes than feel the sand between your toes, the exhilaration?"

"If I take my shoes off now I can tell you where I'll aim them."

Peter jogged ahead of her, out of shot, and dropped his shoes on the hard sand out of range of the to-and-fro of the waves. He splashed into the shallows, to Kiaran's great delight.

Assumpta shook her head but smiled.

* * *

The horses ran and with everyone distracted, Assumpta sidled up to Niamh. "Ambrose is missing all the fun."

Niamh just nodded.

"Everything alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm just," she sighed, "I'm on too short a fuse, but so is he, and it's not a good combination."

"Oh."

"He thinks that I think he can't look after us properly, but that's not what I think. Only, any way I try to tell him so he takes badly."

"So he's going nose to nose with some thug to prove it." Assumpta watched Niamh's face, wondering how serious this really was, "Maybe he'll feel better afterwards, once he's made his point."

"Assuming he's still capable of feeling anything at all." She put a hand to her head. "He's such a-"

"An idiot. But you love him."

Niamh sighed, looked Assumpta in the eye and nearly smiled. "Where's Peter got to?"

"I'm not his keeper."

"Sure sure – oh, there he is. What do you think eh?"

Assumpta followed her line of sight. "Of Orla? I want her legs but other than that, I mean, she's fine. Friendly, a fresh face, which we need around here."

"Yeah, yeah, she's great. But what about for Padraig?"

"Ah."

"Exactly."

Orla laughed outright but Assumpta wasn't convinced. "Are they actually, well - ?"

"She says no, but who knows?"

"You don't believe her?"

"Maybe she's just not sure what'll happen so she's keeping it under wraps."

"She's not you, Niamh."

Niamh affected something like offence.

"Or me. Anyway, none of our business." Assumpta watched as Orla all but shirked the man. The man, however, didn't notice because Peter had said something to him and he turned away at just the moment.

"I think Padraig might have the wrong idea." Niamh said.

"No kidding."

"Maybe Peter's putting him straight."

"Maybe."

"It must be strange." Niamh turned away from them, adjusting Kiaran on her hip.

"What must be strange?"

"I mean, he was the priest."

"Ah."

"I mean doesn't it make you do a proper double-take every now and then?"

"Probably not as much as it should."

"Aren't we beyond the realm of shoulds?"

"Niamh-"

"No, I'm not, I mean – I don't know what I mean."

Assumpta watched her avoid eye contact. "Are you sure you're alright."

"I miss what we were. I miss Ambrose, but it's not as if I'm the same as I always was."

"You just need some time alone – without house guests or a baby, or a mobster."

"Whatever would we have to talk about?"

That gave Assumpta pause. She looked out to sea as if it offered answers, and then spotted Peter, spinning his shoes on their laces, looking awful sullen, walking along the waterline.

"Leave Kiaran with us for the night."

"Us?"

"I mean with me."

"No it's alright."

"Niamh."

"Go on." She nodded toward Peter.

"Okay, but if you need to talk."

Niamh nodded.


	30. Chapter 30

Peter saw her out of the corner of his eye and stopped swinging the sneakers.

"This is not exhilarating." She said. "It's just cold."

He looked down at her pale bare feet and hitched up skirt and laughed, but the huff died on his lips.

"What happened?" She asked.

"Oh, heartache and mis-communication, all that, and I made it worse."

"How?"

"Well, you know Padraig."

"Yeah, I know he'd sooner drown his sorrows than deal with them."

"Maybe that's not always the worst idea."

"You don't really think that."

"No. But I should've kept my nose out."

"Haven't I been telling you that for years? Why start now?"

He looked her in the eye. This was serious.

"He'll get over it."

"I saw what was going on. Maybe everyone did; maybe no one. I'd guess one or two cottoned on – but I said something and now he thinks everyone saw through -

"He embarrassed himself. Peter, this is not your fault."

"Once upon a time he could have talked to me, trusted me. It might have helped."

"He could've talked to you today if he wasn't being a child about it."

"It's not the same."

She slipped her hand into his. "No."

He returned the pressure and turned them around to face the crowds, few of whom seemed to be watching their rather mild expression of affection. "No Kevin here today." Peter said.

"Someone has to watch the shop, I guess." Assumpta was less than surprised about Kevin, but plenty surprised to see Niamh and Kiaran with Sean Dillon again. "He's not the only one missing in action."

Peter turned to her, wondering to what she referred. The _who_ was obvious but he couldn't quite believe the implied what and why.

"Tell me I've an overactive imagination." Assumpta said.

"That doesn't sound like you.

She threatened him with a shoe.

He started them walking again with a quick step out of reach. "You think there's something to worry about?"

"Maybe."

Orla joined the happy trio and soon walked off with Sean.

"Maybe not." Assumpta said. Then Ambrose arrived and put their minds at ease, bounding into the sea, with Niamh skipping after him and demanding the whole story of his victory.

* * *

It was the day Quigley's golf club would open. The place would be deserted. When better to leave Peter running the pub on his own for a day? Assumpta made up an excuse. She'd ordered something and the courier was exorbitant. She fancied the drive, the quiet, a bit of time on her own.

"You don't have to go all the way to Dublin for that." Peter watched her shove one bottle after another into the shelf beneath the coffee machine. "Just say the word. I can mind the place or, you know, stop hanging around like a bad smell whenever the shop's shut."

"That's not what I mean." She finished the crate and stood. "I don't want rid of you. It's just one day."

"It's no problem."

"Great."

But it was a decent drive and any number of things might go wrong, and she hadn't really lied. Getting anyone to deliver an antique roll-top desk all the way to Ballyk, unscathed, was an arm and leg more expensive than a day-trip.

If she'd been dishonest it was about how busy the bar might get later in the day, once the golf club had shut up shop and sent its customers in to town. She'd rather be back before Peter got snowed under.

But everything went smoothly on her end. She was at the port by half past nine and on her way again less than an hour later. The pub door was wide open when she pulled up and the music blaring stopped her dead in her tracks. Gospel?

Perhaps it was a good sign. She laughed, shook her head, and then knocked on the door.

"Sorry, we're closed." Peter called back.

"We _are_ not." She said.

"Assumpta!" He stopped in the kitchen door, mop in hand. "We had a flood. Plumber can't come, he had an accident. I thought I might go over later and just check he's got everything he needs. There's another who'll come tomorrow first thing."

"What?"

"I turned off the mains and I'm afraid if we turn them back on again it'll just get worse."

She closed her eyes with a groan. "It might be something we can fix! Turn them on."

"But-"

"But if it were that bad don't you think I'd have noticed when I left this morning?"

He bent down to do as he was told. "Yeah, what happened? You're back early."

"Good thing too."

He went to speak but she held up a hand to shut him up. They listened for the gush of water. Nothing.

"I guess it's a slow leak."

She laughed and shook her head. "How much water was there?"

"This is the third bucket."

She leaned over the bar to see.

He shrugged, then stopped, rather taken by the picture of her reaching over like that.

"Good thing everyone's at the golf club then." She said.

He nodded, eyes straying from her lips.

She smiled. "Taking advantage of the empty house eh?"

"Something like that?" He kissed her but kept it tantalizingly brief. "Oh, what happened that you got back so fast?"

"Nothing. It all went smoothly. Come on." She beckoned him out to the van. She'd need a hand getting the whopping great thing inside anyway.

"How many pairs of shoes did you buy?"

"Not a one." She opened the back doors as he stepped around, then watched his face just light up.

He laughed, one huff of surprise and joy then, voice faltering, said, "How did you – I mean I never even - " he laughed again and pulled her into a hug, right there on the street for all the world to see.

But the only person, in all the world, to witness their embrace was the lady in the shop across the road. She had the gall to push open the door and let it fall shut again with a thump.

They both looked up at that but rather than letting Assumpta go, Peter took advantage of the shift and kissed her. "Let her rail." He said against her lips. "Thank you."

Assumpta slipped out of his arms. "It's not that big a deal."

"It is to me."

"Well let's get it inside then."

* * *

Half-way up the stairs he said, "I don't remember it being this big."

"It's fine so long as we don't get it wedged."

"Are we going to get it wedged?" He asked from beneath the great hunk of furniture. "I can't see a thing."

"No, we're fine, but start turning after the next step maybe."

"Maybe?" It was heavier than he remembered too.

"Yeah. And then, wait, hold on."

He laughed, "Easier said than done."

"Maybe we should have waited for some muscle."

He put it down and adjusted his grip. "What are you suggesting?"

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, again." She lifted and backed around the corner then started up the second half of the stairs. "Come around. Around!" She directed, but he couldn't see her at all.

"Left or right?"

"Right. My right. Left!"

"Right."

"No – gah! Left."

"I know. I meant right as in agreed."

She sighed. "Clear as mud." They were steady again, moving slowly up the last few stairs. "You alright?"

"Yeah, put her down."

"It's a girl is it?" Assumpta brushed off her aching fingers and turned to him.

He grinned. "Of course."

"Does she have a name?" Assumpta opened the door to the tiny living space she called her own.

"Not yet. Suggestions would be most welcome." He put a shoulder into the thing and it inched along the carpet. "Is it going to fit through that doorway?"

"I think so." She ducked down and eyed it up. "Yeah, should do."

He kept pushing.

"Bit to the left."

"Okay."

"Your left."

"Yeah, yeah."

It stuck less than half the way through. "Stop!" She said. "Don't push it further. We have to back it up and come at it from a different angle."

"Maybe it'd be easier up on one end."

"It's the same width."

"Yeah, but less length to push through."

She laughed and shook her head. "Just back up would you? I'm going to push."

He backed up. She pushed. It didn't move. "I'll climb over and help."

"You will not." Assumpta waved him away. "This is an antique." She pushed again. "I had it shipped _safely_ all the way from Manchester and you're going to put your foot through it just so that I don't break a sweat." She adjusted her footing and tried again, pulling on the door frame at the same time.

It finally gave. Peter insisted on putting it up on one end. And then it went through far too easily.

"Just like that." He grinned.

"There you go. Aren't you on the hunt for a second career?"

"No, no. Couldn't have done it without my beautiful assistant, and she's got enough work for the both of us."

She rolled her eyes with such enthusiasm that words weren't necessary.

"So, where does it go?" He looked around at the very slim pickings for possibilities.

"You want a window? We can move that couch in toward the middle. Or else right by the fireplace, but you'll cook your right arm in winter."

"The window sounds good."

They moved the couch first.

"What was your Mum's name?" Assumpta asked while they worked.

"Mary."

She couldn't stop the quirk of a smile. Of course it was Mary.

"But I was thinking something more literary for the desk."

"You've got literary aspirations now?"

"No, no."

"So you want a woman and a writer. Not Wollstonecraft?"

He smiled. "That's a Mary isn't it?"

"You're too upbeat to be a Brontë man. Austen's a bit too obvious. Did you ever read Elizabeth Gaskell?"

"No."

"Ah, there's your girl. This desk's an Elizabeth. Or Margaret Hale, her greatest heroine."

"Maggie."

"You'd better read it first." Assumpta turned to her bookshelf and fingered the spines.

"Oh I love you." The words just fell from his mouth.

She found the title but couldn't get her fingers to work to pull it out. He stepped up beside her and she turned half-away from the books, unprepared to resist him right now.

He touched his forehead to hers and she remembered him doing just the same thing outside the courthouse in Cilldargen, before they'd even really spoken about what they meant to each other. That seemed like such a long time ago. And they had two or three times that much longer again to wait, in all likelihood.

"I know." She said and touched her fingers to his cheek, meaning to kiss him once and carefully and not quite like that.

He stepped into her and she gripped his shirt to keep from stumbling, but she needn't have worried. The bookshelf was right there and Peter was holding her firmly up against him as well. God, she'd missed this. She'd had it for such a short time but there was no going back from being so whole-heartedly adored by someone whom she so whole-heartedly loved.

He wasn't holding back but she knew his resolution and when their kiss momentarily paused she put her hands to his chest. "Peter." She whispered, surprised by the caliber of her voice.

"You shouldn't have to wait, just because I - " He looked into her eyes. "This isn't fair to you."

She took his hand, but didn't remove it from her hip. "It's not forever."

"Let me do this."

"If _this_ is what I think you're proposing, that's only going to make waiting more difficult for you."

"I want to."

"It's my fault we have to wait at this point at all."

"But we don't _have_ _to_. I'm choosing to." He tightened his grip on her.

She closed her eyes, resolve weak. "I, too, am choosing that."

He looked into her dilated eyes and then released his hold only to put his arms around her and hug her loosely, almost like just good friends.

"It's just a desk." She said with a squeeze, then let go.

"Oh, I don't know. She's got a name now." He let his hand drop from her side. "Margaret or Elizabeth?"

"Read the book."

"I will. But I think she looks like a Liz."

"Roll-top Lizzy."

He laughed and rolled up the top. "I don't even have stationary."

"Christmas is coming."

He caught her eye again, almost certain she was thinking back to last Christmas. He'd sat beside her at the bar all evening, bending her ear about the Javelin and his father and his not-so-wicked youth. She'd offered up one or two stories of her own. He'd thrilled at every insight, and feared all the while that the clocks would speed up or someone would drag one or other of them away and time would be up.

And now he no longer needed to be jealous of her company. She wanted to be with him all the days, Christmas or otherwise, all the rest of their lives. These couple months ahead melted away by comparison, and they were about to vanish entirely but a fierce banging on the door downstairs interrupted them.

Brian had let himself in by the time the pair got down to meet the barrage of customers. "Ringing in the changes?" Quigley raised an eye to the music.

"Ah, sorry." Peter ducked away to change it to the usual soft rock selection.

"It's not like you to hand over so many customers so early in the day." Assumpta watched Quigley, wondering what he was up to, but went behind the bar.

"Speaking of out-of-character behaviour." He watched Peter round the end of the bar. "Got a decent champagne?"

"Yes." Peter spoke with confidence.

"Good. We ran out." He said and then dashed off to schmooze.

"I'm not sure the champagne's as decent as you think it is." Assumpta pulled out the glassware and started polishing it up.

"We'll hide the bottle and hope they've all had a few already."

She pursed her lips and watched him search the fridge. He caught her look and raised an eyebrow to it. "You make a pretty good bar man, 'cept for your taste in music."

"Hey, I like this stuff too. I'm just eclectic."

She took the bottle from him and picked at the foil with her fingernail. "You're something, that's for sure."


	31. Chapter 31

Peter had an open invitation to fish with Brendan any time he liked but when he finally showed up, with rod and tackle he'd pilfered from the shed, Brendan was nowhere to be seen. Fishing seemed to have a therapeutic effect on some people. Peter wasn't sure this was his particular brand of therapy, but a little relaxation and quiet company couldn't hurt. Besides, Assumpta wanted to talk to Niamh and needed time and space to let that happen naturally.

Peter wandered up stream, trying half a dozen different ways to carry the fishing rod and managing to trip himself up more than once.

"Careful there!"

He looked up to find Sean Dillon up to his knees in the river. "Sorry." Peter knew how Brendan hated such disturbances.

"You'll scare the fish."

Peter walked carefully over so as to be able to speak more quietly – for the sake of the fish. "Don't suppose you've seen Brendan today?"

"He's babysitting. Siobhan had a call-out so he's on duty." Sean flicked his rod, "But stay if you like."

"You weren't looking to be alone?"

"Plenty of solitude at home."

Peter sat down on the rocks and got his line ready. "How's Emma settling in?"

"Fine, I think."

"Making friends?"

Sean nodded, "Though perhaps not the ones I'd have hand-picked for her."

Peter smiled.

"No, she's fine, all things considered."

"And you?"

Sean took a few steps upstream and adjusted his line, "You'd have been a good priest, I'd hazard a guess."

Peter stood up. "Maybe I was."

"Did you lose your faith?" This was revenge for being nosy and Peter knew it.

"No, I didn't lose my faith. It's a little battle-weary of late, if I'm honest, but that's not why I left."

"You fell in love?"

"Yep."

"She is – or was married, am I right?"

Peter threw his line in and hoped for wisdom, "She is, yeah."

"And you were too, all but."

"I suppose."

"And yet you still believe all that stuff?"

"Some of it. Lots of it. What about you?"

"I never found faith to lose it. Or it never found me."

"But you found someone."

Sean gave a nod, "And she died."

Peter waited.

Sean went on, "And then I found myself here, wondering where the hell I am and why I can't seam to leave."

"Why should you want to leave?"

"Oh, there are one or two reasons – see? I told you, you'd have been a good priest."

"For holding up my end of a conversation?"

"Extracting truth like teeth."

"Ouch."

"What is it you want to know?" Sean looked straight at him.

"Nothing." Peter didn't need to lie. If Assumpta's barely articulated suspicions had any basis, he'd really rather not know. If he knew anything he'd be incapable of inaction.

Sean shook his head and watched the river.

"Should there be?"

He chuckled, "The fish have their ears on today."

"I'm not a priest any more. You can just tell me to shut up or bog off."

"I'd be more likely to tell you that if you were a priest."

"You sound like Assumpta."

Sean looked up. "I find that hard to believe."

"No, I'm serious. Ask Niamh. Ask anyone." There was no missing the wall go up. The conversation was over. The silence wasn't pleasant but Peter stuck it out a while.

Sean started packing up and Peter followed suit.

"Come back for a drink?" Peter offered and wasn't surprised when the man shook his head.

"Another time maybe." Sean hiked off alone.

* * *

Niamh wasn't offering up a thing. She followed Assumpta into the kitchen at one point, but only to ask how many days in a row Padraig had been slumped on the bar before school let out.

"Most of a week." Assumpta said. "But anything I say just makes it worse."

"But you keep serving him?"

As if this was her fault! But Niamh's eyes implored, she didn't mean it that way. Assumpta sighed. "I turned him down a couple of days ago. It's not as if he can't get a drink elsewhere and surely he's better off here, near his friends."

"Yeah. You're right." Niamh shrugged. "But if he gets word of Orla going out with Sean Dillon there'll be trouble."

"Orla and Sean?"

"Well, it's early days."

"Early days as in what?"

"As in they're having dinner tonight."

"So they're not _going_ out. They're _going_ to go out."

"_In_ actually. She's cooking."

"This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"I gave her a nudge. She didn't think he'd be interested. Can you believe it?"

"Maybe he's not."

"He is. He said yes."

"She asked then."

Niamh shook her head, "And you a feminist?"

"I didn't mean -" Assumpta shook her head at that dead end. "Anyway, you're right. Padraig doesn't need to know about that until absolutely necessary. If ever."

"Hopefully she doesn't pop in to buy wine or anything."

Assumpta shook her head and headed back to the bar where Padraig was already wanting a refill. She gave him a glass of water alongside.

He glared at it.

And in came Orla. She took a wary, side-long glance at Padraig then turned her full attention on Assumpta. "Erm, white wine. A bottle."

Niamh put two on the bar.

"Okay, two bottles." Orla made a face and paid up before basically running out the door.

* * *

Peter put the fishing rod away and changed his damp socks for dry ones, then walked slowly down to town. Assumpta wouldn't be pleased he was back so soon. He walked right past the church before he decided to go back and, well, there were worse things he could do for half an hour.

He was pleased to find the place deserted, crossed himself and walked all the way to the front, eyes lingering on the icons, so familiar to him.

There was comfort in the familiar, and the light in here was easy on the eyes, but everywhere he looked he found questions, problems, conflicts. Faith had never been _really_ easy, but once upon a time he'd accepted that. He'd taken the complexity as confirmation that it was all real.

God, what he'd do for one simple, straight up and down thing to hold onto. There was that game they used to play – flick open the bible and apply whatever verse you put your finger on to the situation at hand. The results were mostly absurd, but more often than you'd expect, spot on. He wasn't feeling quite robust enough for such a gamble now. He could do with the laugh, but no, bad idea.

He could say a prayer. See how far he got before he couldn't go on.

Our father in heaven, so far so good.

Hallowed be thy name. Utterly beyond me. He looked up at the arches above, leading the eye to God. Hallowed be thy name.

Your kingdom come, in whatever shape and colour. This was where he usually got stuck. He barged on.

Your will be done, but please let the divorce come through without further complication.

On earth as in heaven. Or almost.

Give us this day our daily bread.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Lead us not into temptation, except just a little, but not more than I can handle.

Deliver us from evil. Yes, please.

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forevermore.

Amen.

He grinned. He'd made it all the way through.

Father Aidan came in the side door and paused on seeing Peter, then skirted up the aisle, not wanting to interrupt. Peter was about to start again, at the top of the Our Father, but Aidan had stopped at the back of the church as if he were waiting for him.

More than happy with what progress was made, Peter stood, crossed himself and turned to the priest. "How are you?"

"Good, good." He stepped forward, wary of pushing. "Everything alright?"

"Sure." Close enough to alright. As alright as could be expected on the faith front and fantastic otherwise.

"Good. Must be quite an adjustment, going from all this to – well."

Peter nodded. "I hope my being around isn't making it difficult for you to make a home here."

"Coming out of a monastery I think it was always going to be something of a challenge."

"Still."

"No, it's great you're on hand, if I need any pointers."

"You might not want to mention to Father Mac any advice you take from me. Look, do you want to come down for a drink?"

"Erm, maybe another time."

There was nothing else for it. Time to go home – or, well, not home. Home, strictly speaking, was Brendan's spare room. Time to go to work.

Assumpta smiled at him when he came in. He raised his eyebrows in silent question – any success talking to Niamh? Assumpta barely shook her head no in response but her hair caught the light and perhaps God was taking his prayer for a little bit of temptation rather seriously because he balled fists against the urge to do whatever was necessary, just now, to get his hands in her hair.

She gave him a funny look and he approached the bar. "Brendan was fulfilling his fatherly duty and I don't have the same skill for avoiding this place I once did."

"You did, did you?"

"Well, no."

Niamh joined them. "You don't need me anymore?"

"Ah, just hold the fort a minute, will you?" Peter jumped at the chance, answering Assumpta's confusion with a nod toward the kitchen. Door closed after them, he trapped her behind it, his wove his fingers through those glossy waves and kissed her.

She pulled back after a moment, laughing. "Miss me, then?"

He kissed her again. "Not really, actually, but now that I'm here..."

She stood up on tip toes and alighted on his lips just a little peck of a thing that said something like, 'agreed.'

Sean Dillon came in at the same moment they returned to the bar. He was bringing a book for Niamh, from Emma. Niamh, still on duty, offered him a drink. Peter averted his eyes but Assumpta had no qualms watching it all – Padraig in the corner, his miserable face hovering over his half-gone drink, Sean as awkward as ever and and either ignorant of the fact that he was going on a date with Orla, or a really good liar. "Can't stay. I have to talk to Orla about this statue. But I'll have a bottle of wine - red."

Niamh put a white on the bar. "Trust me." She said and took his money.

If there was anything between them perhaps it sparked then but Peter wasn't looking and Assumpta was busy worrying about Padraig. He couldn't be ignorant of Orla's interest in this other man and now that Kevin was gone he hadn't a slip of motivation to be sober in the morning... or in the afternoon. He'd never been sober in the evenings.

* * *

As soon as Assumpta locked up that night she turned to Peter and said, "Maybe you should try speaking to Padraig again."

He glanced at her a moment but didn't say a word, ferrying glasses to the sink.

"You should." She stepped up behind him, hands slipping around his waist till spread across his diaphragm.

"You using your feminine wiles on me is like shooting ducks on the lake."

"I know." She felt his laugh beneath her hands but didn't hear it.

"What do I say?" He said, with a sigh.

"You'll figure it out."

"It really isn't the same as before."

"No, Kevin's at a safe distance, with his mum in London, thank heaven."

"See, there's nothing I can say to fix that."

"Cast your mind back, to a time before lie-ins, before physical contact, before freedom of thought."

"Hah!"

"Before this," she kissed hid nrck.

He turned to face her, "Now why would I want to send my mind back there?"

"What would you have said to him back then?"

He considered the question and she waited. Eventually he said, "I'd have asked him if he wanted to talk about it."

"See? Not so hard."

"And when he says no, what then?"

"You dog him till he breaks."

"I think your memory of my methods is a little off."

"Well I wasn't one of your flock. You never used your methods on me." She looked down at their arms hung loosely around each other. They'd come a long way. "Well, come to think of it, you did twist my arm into a few things. Ryan's Mother, for one."

He grinned, leaned in and dropped a kiss on her lips.

"If only that had been your method then. Try, okay. If he won't talk, at least you'll have tried."

Peter nodded. "I'll take him a coffee in the morning. Bribe him into confessing."

"Late morning."

He turned back to the sink and put his hand beneath the flow till it ran hot. "I didn't watch, you know."

"What?"

"I mean, I watched most of it but at the end I slipped out the back."

"The play?"

He nodded and put the plug in the sink.

"Even then?"

He squirted dishwashing liquid in. "Hey, you were the one who pulled away in the first rehearsal."

"Yeah, well it was a bit close to home." She put her hand to his cheek, "If it's a sin, there'll be no repeating it."

He rested his forehead against hers. "How can I comfort a man who has lost so much? I mean, I've been lonely, but I went into it with my eyes open. I've never even had what he's lost, but now - " he watched her reach out and turn off the water, marveled at this simple domestic bliss, "Now I have it all, so much to look forward to. He knows – everyone must know – I'm on top of the world. How do I not accidentally rub salt in his wounds?"

Assumpta sighed, leaned back on the bench though she still faced him. "Maybe that's why Niamh won't say anything to me about Ambrose? I'm too happy to be of use to her."


	32. Chapter 32

Peter found a flask in the kitchen and filled it with fresh coffee. "Won't be long." He said, on his way out.

Assumpta turned momentarily from switching out the near-empty Jameson's. "Take your time."

"I know." He shook his head and off he went, but Padraig didn't answer the door. Peter considered breaking in, just in case the man was unconscious and in trouble. It wasn't difficult to imagine Padraig might have injured himself, the state he'd been in last night. Net curtains blocked any view through the windows. Peter nosed around till he found the back door open and, calling out, went in. The place was a tip. But Padraig wasn't there.

Assumpta looked up when Peter returned. "That was quick?"

"He's not there. Fancy a coffee?" He looked around at their three customers.

"Sure." She put two mugs on the bar. "He's not just unconscious?"

"No, back door was open. He's not there."

Sean Dillon came in and asked if they'd seen Padraig.

"Sorry, no idea where he is." Assumpta stood up, rounding the bar to serve him.

"He's not at home." Peter added.

"Someone stole the statue last night." Sean said and the next moment in came Siobhan, Padraig in tow. She ordered a pint and a glass of milk.

"A glass of milk?" Assumpta repeated.

"The milk is for me." Padraig sat down in his usual spot. "I hope I wasn't too much of a pain last night. If I was, you have my apologies."

"Don't worry about it, Padraig." Assumpta said, pouring the milk.

"The statue is outside, in a post office bag." He addressed Dillon.

"You're admitting that you stole my property?"

"And trespassed on your land. Yes, I am. And while we're at it, in the matter of malicious damage to your pick-up van last night." He thanked Assumpta for the milk then went on, "You can sue me, charge me, do whatever the hell you want."

"What I do depends on what you propose to do." Sean eyed the man.

"I will make full and proper restitution. It'll take three or four weeks."

"Agreed."

Padraig went on. "I know how important money is to you people."

Peter turned away. It had been going so well.

Siobhan took the words right out of Peter's mouth, "Padraig, when you're in a hole, stop digging."

"Fair enough. I take back that last remark."

"Don't bother. Just make sure that you have the money." Sean slammed some car keys down on the counter. "I think those are yours." He said to Padraig, and left.

"You didn't have to say that Padraig." Siobhan shook her head at the man.

"I'm trying for sobriety." He lifted his milk, "Not sainthood."

Assumpta turned away. Peter was serving their only other customers. It was a steady kind of day, plenty to do but no rush. Maybe things were looking up, but with winter only a couple of weeks away there was no guarantee it would continue.

Peter and Assumpta had come up with a kind of task distribution. She took delight in finishing early and watching him from the comfort of a bar stool, sipping a glass of something she might have said went with her late lunch. Peter had a terrible habit of finishing his half-dozen jobs and then helping her with the last of hers. Which made her feel a bit guilty about all the other times. But not today. He disappeared before she'd finished in the basement. She found him on the sofa upstairs, asleep with her book open across his chest.

Fionn needed a walk, and Peter apparently needed a nap, so she took the dog out and returned an hour later to find the place deserted.

She'd picked up a newspaper and now was as good a time as any to actually read the thing, but Peter returned before she finished the second page.

"Oh, there you are. I looked for you down the river. I must have slept longer than I thought."

"Looked like you needed it."

He nodded. "Coffee?"

"You're not sleeping well?" She nodded for the coffee.

"Oh, you know, second best beds aren't what they used to be."

She shook her head at the shakespeare reference. He was ploughing through Elizabeth Gaskell. Perhaps he shouldn't spend the rest of his life behind a bar, but English literature would hardly jet him off to fame and fortune. Didn't she know it? Not that she _wanted_ to be elsewhere. Interesting conversation and half-decent reading material was all the intellectual stimulation she required. Peter, on the other hand, might crave a little more. He had once been a priest, after all. Talk about a calling.

He brought through their coffees and stole a section of the paper. "Anything interesting happening in the world?"

"Space shuttle returned, safe and sound, something about Bill Clinton, safe perhaps. Wouldn't put my money on sound."

He shook his head and opened his section. "We should go see a movie."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. We'll ask Niamh to watch the pub. Why not?"

"No reason."

"Would it be weird to go out for an actual date-like-thing?"

"A date-like-thing?" She laughed, "A little, maybe. But no, let's. What's playing?"

"Shame they closed the Ritzy." He said, running his finger down a column.

"Why?" She leaned over to see the listings.

"Didn't you have your first kiss there?"

"I did. Do you remember everything?"

"I remember watching you rock that tiny baby at three in the morning. I remember that I was too tired to keep from playing pretend."

"That wasn't a pretend baby, Peter."

He laughed softly, "No, I was the one pretending."

She looked him in the eye and felt her heart rate increase.

He turned back to the paper. "How do you feel about subtitles?"

* * *

It was miserable weather and the bar near-deserted. Niamh sent them off with a cheery, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." And while they sat in the theatre, transported by the film, a storm came in.

"I thought it was going to be a comedy." Assumpta blinked away a few unspilled tears as the lights faded up.

Peter wiped his cheeks, shameless, "It did start out that way. Nothing makes you forget you're reading subtitles like an S.S. officer spouting riddles."

She squeezed his hand and then stood. Outside it was still drizzling. They ran to the van. "No fish and chips on the beach then?" Assumpta said, slamming the driver's side door closed behind her.

"Guess not. We could sneak in the back and picnic on your living room floor." Peter suggested.

"The chips would be soggy by then."

"This is Ireland. The chips would be soggy anyway."

She thumped him and he grabbed her fist, pulling her close. She shook her head, laughing, "No way!"

He kissed her anyway, till she forgot about defending her country against the English. He dropped her fist and reached for her body, his large hand burning right through her red cardigan as he pulled her around to face him properly. She snaked her hands around his hips and then remembered they'd have to stop soon. In the interest of cooling off she broke away just far enough to say, "It wasn't quite like this at the back of the Ritzy." But he kissed her again, his hand on her back fast descending.

Hang it, if he wanted to stop, he'd have to stop. She twisted up onto her knees, careful to edge around the steering wheel without hitting the horn. He didn't break contact with her rising body, breathing heavy kisses through the V of her tshirt, above her cardigan. Now his hands moved under her tshirt. He pulled her over onto his lap.

She thrilled; there was no missing he was ready. The headlights of another car flashed through their window for a moment. They paused, looked at one another, breaths out of rhythm.

She lifted a hand to his cheek then let it drop down his chest. He had plenty of time to stop her. He didn't. His hands were busy elsewhere. She sunk down onto him. Bits of clothing getting in the way only made it more tantalising. She couldn't get enough of him.

The rain had stopped now, the carpark was dark, empty streets beyond. They were in their own little world, snatching kisses, moaning into each other's mouths. The first frenzy calmed in the satisfaction of intimate connection. Watching, listening, moving closely, they relished each moment until the frenzy returned.

When it was over he laughed and she sat back, her hands on his chest, ignoring the protest in her hips.

"Father Mac better not shine a light in our window." He said, resting his head forward onto her chest.

She kissed his hair. "At least you know what you'd say if he did."

He shook his head and looked up at her, marveling at what had just occurred.

She cocked her head to the side. "Nothing gets you making the most of every moment like a holocaust movie." She started to get.

He held her tight in place, "Not yet."

"I don't do enough yoga for this."

"You do yoga?" He let her go.

"Not at all." She wriggled back into her seat, adjusting her clothes as she went.

He was doing something similar. "Remember our original plan, to wait until we knew how long we had to wait?"

She nodded. "Nearly there."

"Yeah." He exhaled. "I can't believe we just - "

"No kidding." She started the engine. "Home?"

"Sure. I'll do you a toasted sandwich, plenty of crunch."

She shook her head and pulled out of the carpark. "Cute."


	33. Chapter 33

Assumpta parked the van out front and turned off the engine before he spoke.

"I might head back to Brendan's."

"The time for resisting temptation was about an hour ago." She was all easy humour. Perhaps she'd needed that more than she'd realised.

Peter's smile hitched. "I miss you, like you wouldn't believe. I just - "

She watched him. Was she missing something? "You just want to do the right thing?" She shook her head and opened the door. "Go home, Peter."

"I just don't want to be swept a way. It's an important decision. I need to make it, not let it just happen."

"Like I said, you're off by about an hour."

"I just mean - "

"It's fine. Just go." Assumpta made sure the pub door closed behind her.

Niamh looked up suddenly, "Oh, just you."

"Yeah, everything alright?"

"Sure – oh, except Emma Dillon's missing. You didn't see her did you?"

"She's missing?"

"Well, she didn't get home. She was with Danny, so it's most likely nothing. Sean's probably just over reacting. Fathers do that, I suppose."

Fathers, and ex-fathers of the other variety, Assumpta thought. She shouldn't have been so abrupt but this stuff just got her in the gut. "Have they gone looking for her?"

"Sean went home. Maybe she's there. She'll probably show up. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Assumpta nodded. "Well, thanks for watching the place."

"Good movie?"

"Great movie. Real tear-jerker. You'd love it."

"Peter went home already?"

Assumpta nodded, glad of the dim lighting. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss this with Niamh.

"Aren't you two on your best behaviour? I'd say he's rubbing off, but clearly not." Niamh put her jacket on. "See you tomorrow yeah." She didn't seem to notice Assumpta's silence, leaving with a cheery g'night.

* * *

Peter came down on foot the next morning, and he was glad of the walk. He didn't blame Assumpta for taking it personally. Indeed, this was about as personal as it got. But he needed to mend things between them, needed to explain, to be understood. And that was going to be a challenge, given he barely had it straight in his own heavy head.

Emma came out of the Garda house and almost ran right into him. She barrelled off. Peter watched for a moment, wondering if he should go after her, then turned back toward Fitzgerald's and walked right into Sean Dillon.

"Sorry." Sean said.

"Everything alright?"

"Or so they're saying." Sean sighed. "Sorry, better go."

Ambrose was next out the door.

"Busy night?" Peter asked him.

"Apparently not. How goes it?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Glad the teenage years are a ways off."

Peter smiled. "Kiaran sleeping through most of the time now?"

"Most of the time. I thought it'd solve everything, but I guess there's more to life than a good night's sleep." Ambrose gave him a wave and headed inside.

Peter tried to find some comfort in the words, but he felt near-dead on his feet. Assumpta wasn't up so he made coffee and stood in her kitchen, staring into space.

Perhaps taking her breakfast in bed would help. Then again, having this conversation in bed might not. He groaned aloud. They were adults. In a matter of weeks they'd probably – hopefully – be married. Perspective, that was what they needed.

They'd better have this conversation on the top of a mountain then. He smiled at the thought, the memory of that first time, right here in the kitchen. He couldn't regret it, despite all that had followed.

And last night? Last night had been incredible. Last night had assured him that the chapter in the Joys of Marriage had been right in at least one instance: practice makes perfect.

He made her a coffee and started up the stairs.

Inching open the door he saw the cocoon of duvet and her one foot poking out, as always. She was properly out to it. He put the coffee on the night stand and slipped off his shoes. How could doing the right thing mean hurting her?

He looked out through the gap between the curtains, out to the mountains – _whence comes my strength_, he thought. _Alright then,_ _Thy will be done. Forgive me my trespasses, and if this is one of them -_

He sat down on a bit of bare sheet, careful not to disturb her more than necessary. Turning, he lay down, cocooning her outside of the covers. He heard the change in her breathing as she woke.

"Sorry." He said, without specifying what for.

"This allowed?" She said eventually.

"God knows." He said, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"What's this, blissful ignorance?"

"I love you."

"Oh, don't do that."

He laughed, "Do what?"

"Grovel."

"This is just a hug."

"It's all part of it." She sighed. Silence. She took his hand atop the covers. "I should have stopped. I knew what you wanted and I just - "

"I could have stopped too. I'm not even sorry. You were incredible. You are incredible."

"You're not bad yourself." She rolled over, tugging the covers out of the way. "You're not sorry?"

"I'm not."

"Just a little bit conflicted?"

"That sounds about right."

"Would a date help?"

"You mean another movie, or a wedding date?"

"Yeah."

He sighed, fingers toying with her hair. "Probably."

"Six weeks on Sunday?"

"Sunday?"

"Sure, afternoon kind of thing, while everyone's still dressed up from church and we'll do it, I don't know, in someone's field, up on the hills."

"Summit a mountain."

She laughed. "Maybe after."

"Definitely after."

She thumbed the underside of his jaw, where the rough gave way to the soft skin, "If we do a Sunday we can take three or four days for a honeymoon without putting much of a dent in the finances, except it'll be January and I'm not sure the tenting thing will work out, even if our efforts at keeping warm will be more fun than the usual."

"I should really sell that car."

She nodded. "I'll find us a getaway, a cottage on a hill some place. You do the wedding."

"Deal."

"Playing to our strengths." She looked at his hand in hers, his long fingers, bare.

"You know, I think we might be getting good at this."

She looked him in the eye, wondering if he was thinking about last night as well, then nodded. She took a deep breath and noticed something. "Did you bring me coffee?"

His "hmm," was affirmative.

"Well, why didn't you say so? It'll be cold by now."

"There seemed something a little more important to -"

"More important than coffee?" She sat up and reached over the top of him for the tepid cup.

"My mistake." He lay back and watched her.

"You'll learn." It wasn't too cold for the drinking, not yet. "You think grovelling is a cup of coffee in bed?"

"I wasn't grovelling."

She watched him.

"I was grovelling a little bit. And coffee's very important, don't you know, it was an obvious place to start."

She drank her coffee. "Not too big of a deal, yeah? We're on the same page on that, right?"

He nodded. "How would you feel about – well, Father Aidan can't marry us but he could say a blessing."

"Of course. You do know I'd marry you in a church if the rules allowed it?"

"You would?"

She sighed. "At some point I won't keep on needing to prove that I actually do love you."

"Love doesn't mean giving up everything."

"Is that right?"

"Assumpta - "

"Stop."

"No." He sat upright. "This is _our_ wedding, important to the both of us. I know you want this. I'm not asking for proof. I'm asking what you want?"

She couldn't quite hold his gaze at that and dropped her head to his shoulder, pressing the side of her nose against his collar. "That's just it, Peter. I want you. Champagne wouldn't hurt, and a proper mud cake, none of this fruit rubbish. But it all seems like details, doesn't it? I mean, just the bare minimum, the standing up in front of everyone, together, that on its own is huge." She put her hand on his chest, "For us, it's huge."

"Yeah." He whispered onto her forehead and she closed her eyes when the breath reached her lashes.

"Still," she looked up at him, "there's no way in hell I'm promising to obey you."

He laughed, too hard. Till she shoved him toward the edge of the bed. "No," he grabbed her hand, "no it's not that. I was just thinking – I talked Niamh out of the obey bit, back in the day."

She stopped fighting him, sitting up on her knees to return her empty coffee cup to the night stand. "You did, did you?"

He watched her reach over him, steeling himself for any touch. "We can say whatever we like. The only obligatory bit is something along the lines of I take you to be my whatever."

"Hmm." She took hold of the bed-head behind him. "I've always wanted a whatever."

"That right?"

"No, I lie. Just this particular whatever." She kissed him so softly he almost could have imagined it. "Now, are you opening the shop, or am I?"

"I better. You're not decent."

She plonked herself down on his lap. "Neither are you."

"And whose fault is that?"

* * *

After a drizzly walk with Assumpta and Fionn, Peter would have happily returned to the pub and started early but Assumpta reminded him of the car.

"Are you sure this isn't some ploy to get me talking to our recently sobered up local mechanic?"

"Not at all." She got away leaving him to figure out that her answer wasn't even a denial.

Peter leaned on the garage door, saying only a meek, "Heya," before Padraig jetted out from beneath a truck. "Don't suppose you know of someone desperate for a little run-about?"

"Does it run, about or otherwise?"

Peter thought for a moment. "Worth more in parts anyway, right?"

"Yeah, right, but that takes time and contacts and - "

"And you're my man?"

"I am," Padraig sat up, "off to London."

"What?"

Padraig nodded, "Off to London to get sober."

"First time in London then?"

"Ha ha."

"But Kevin's there." Peter crossed his arms and smiled, "Good man, Padraig."

He lay back again, ready to return to work. "I'll ask about your car but I can't promise anything."

"No, that's fine. Not your problem."

Peter wrote 'For Sale' on a couple of pieces of paper, taped them in the windows of his car and drove it down from Brendan's. It _was_ running today, but it didn't sound happy about it. He parked it on the main road and hoped no one drove into it. He'd be covered for fire or theft, but he wouldn't get a cent if some teenager bumped it into the Angel for a laugh. With any luck the car-less teenagers would see it, dream of freedom, and fork over a year's pocket money.

Peter walked back toward the pub. If someone had told him when he bought that thing that he'd be selling it to pay for his honeymoon, he'd never have believed them. He smiled at the thought of a honeymoon but, enchanting though it was, his mind did wander during the evening. Padraig had made a tough decision, but undoubtedly the right one. He might have talked to Brendan and Siobhan about it, hopefully he'd said something to Kevin, and Kevin's mother... but Father Aidan had probably not been consulted. Not that Padraig was under any obligation to work these things through with the clergy, but once upon a time he might have. Peter was strangely certain that, had he still been a priest, Padraig would have spoken to him about it.

"Cheer up." Assumpta slapped a magazine down on the bar in front of him, "Turns out you can feed a chocolate cake with brandy too."

"What?"

"Not a mud-cake mind, but marriage is all about compromise, isn't it?"

Siobhan looked up at that. "You've set a date then?" She peered down at the magazine. "I'd better be invited."

Peter smiled. "Of course. But we haven't got a firm date; few things to sort out yet."

"True, I suppose the venue isn't a given." Siobhan said and then looked around her as if afraid she'd been overheard. "Sorry."

Assumpta sighed. "Don't worry about it."

Siobhan thought for a moment, smile growing, "I'd do it."

"Do what?"

"Marry you."

"You can do that?" Assumpta stopped.

"Not yet. But technically anyone can."

"Except the usual suspects." Assumpta added with a sidelong glance at Peter.

"Would you want me to?"

Assumpta turned to Peter, who gaped like fish. She cracked up laughing. "Don't take it personally, Siobhan."

"No, it's not that." He recovered, "I just hadn't considered, I mean, ah, we should talk about it is all."

"Take your time." Siobhan returned her attention to her lunch.

* * *

I never bother with disclaimers cause I figure it's covered by the fact I'm posting a story on FANFICTION dot NET , so duh, it's fanfic, but I feel i should mention that whole whopping chunks of dialogue from that last chapter were straight out of a season 4 episode, 'Rock Bottom' to be precise. Perhaps you realised, perhaps you gave up on the show around the same time its stars did... anyway, just so you know. Not all of this is mine.


	34. Chapter 34

"Oh, not this again." Brendan rolled his eyes. Not for the first time did Peter think the man was spending too much time with children.

"What? It was great last time."

"Yes, but last time the community needed it. There's no motivation behind it this time."

"There was no motivation last time. If memory serves, I bulled every last one of you into participating."

"Not me." Assumpta pushed past with a tray of drinks. "I was all for it - until I found out Niamh had wagered three barrels on a win. By which point it was almost over." She walked away.

Peter leaned in toward Brendan, "Truth is, there is a reason."

"Wedding fund?"

"Wedding aside, the bar's barely in the black."

That stopped Brendan short. He closed his eyes on a nod. "Alright, I'll even do the dominoes again if Siobhan'll deign to pair with me. But Padraig's gone so who'll sing?"

"There doesn't have to be a singing competition. Or dominoes."

Assumpta was back, a silent laugh on her lips. "Nope, just need a quiz."

"You'll need me for the team so I can hardly write the -" Brendan stopped, "Although that'd be one way to stack the cards."

"I may not be a priest any more but I don't think so."

"You'll have the doc, me," Brendan put on his thinking face.

"Oh, this is hopeful." Assumpta shook her head.

"What difference does it make to us?" Peter turned to her, trying not to be distracted by the colour of her lips and the shine of her hair, "So long as the crowds come. The best team wins." He shrugged.

"What happened to your community spirit?" Brendan demanded. "Loyalty? Brotherhood? You'll be a local good and proper soon enough."

Peter grinned.

"He'll be a business owner too." Assumpta put in, with a nod. "As you were."

Peter bit back a smile, still wary of taking ownership of half her business, though he knew he shouldn't be.

Brendan just looked impressed. "Well I guess we know where everyone's priorities lie then."

Assumpta went to serve someone at the far end of the bar.

"Who'd have thought eh?" Brendan took a drink.

"Her idea. I tried to say no."

"I needn't ask how that went for you."

Peter laughed.

Siobhan came in, pulling a loaded pushchair. "She's all yours." She pushed the thing toward Brendan and stepped up to the bar. "Assumpta, a double whiskey, whenever you like."

"What?" Brendan caught the rolling baby-mobile and his indigence faded momentarily on sight of his daughter.

"You want to be more involved and I want two good nights' sleep in a row. Tomorrow's Saturday, you've nothing on, and I'll come by Sunday morning."

Brendan gaped.

"Don't worry. I won't wake you. If you're lucky I'll even make you breakfast."

"But I might have plans."

"Do you?"

"I might have."

"He doesn't." Peter went around the bar to see the baby.

"What would you know, turncoat?"

"I've an adjoining bedroom."

"For now you do."

Assumpta put Siobhan's drink down on the bar. "There you go, I heard it. Peter volunteered. I'm hardly run off my feet."

"Fine." Brendan said. "Team effort. You can do the night shift."

Peter picked up Aisling. "Sounds like a party."

* * *

Two hours later Peter pulled an encyclopaedia from Brendan's bookshelf and settled on the sofa.

"She's asleep." Brendan whispered, tiptoeing into the lounge. "A drink, I think."

"Whatever you're having." Peter flicked the page over and found a fact he could turn into a quiz question.

Brendan sat down with two small, full glasses. "That should keep you going till the tie-breaker." He handed one to Peter.

Peter put the list of questions in the encyclopaedia and shut the volume. "I'm going to have to keep this beneath my mattress." He took the glass from Brendan.

Brendan raised his drink. "To happy, healthy, _sleeping_ babies."

Peter almost managed a pure smile before he drank.

Brendan didn't miss a trick. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Oh, bit tired." Peter drank again.

"I suppose that's one of the reasons you left, eh?"

"Huh?" Peter put his glass down and sat back, ready to reopen the book.

"Kids. Though the thought of Assumpta's offspring in class – I'd better look into early retirement."

Peter cracked a smile at that but it wasn't quite bright enough.

"She not keen?"

"No, she's happy to, but, well, no hurry or anything." Peter opened the encyclopaedia and tried to read.

Brendan nodded, content to focus his attention on his dram.

* * *

Peter woke to Aisling's cries and hauled himself out of bed to find Brendan had beat him to it.

An hour later, Peter got up again. "My turn." He took the baby and the bottle and sent Brendan to bed.

Brendan woke in the morning to blissful silence and a slight headache. He padded through to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and turned to see Peter sleeping on the couch, Aisling on his chest.

Brendan tiptoed out of the room.

* * *

"I got you a present." Brendan turned from the baby sleeping in the pushchair and addressed Assumpta across the bar.

She stopped, taken aback. "You what?"

"A present." He fished in his inside coat pocket. "Sure I've missed your birthday haven't I? There you go." He handed her a polaroid.

Her quizzical expression melted into a smile. "Would you look at that?"

Peter came in then. "There weren't any size 3s but Kathleen assures me size 4s will do just fine."

"What does Kathleen Hendly know about nappies?" Brendan took the packet from Peter, who shrugged.

"How to read the packet, probably." Assumpta pointed to a little cloud containing the vital information: 7-18kg, 15-40lbs.

"Ah." Brendan considered for a moment. "Does she weigh that much?"

Peter nodded.

"Y'are the expert." Brendan shrugged.

Peter raised his eyebrows to that.

Assumpta waved the polaroid at him. "Proof."

"What?" He took the picture from her. "When did - " he shook his head. "And all that time the quiz was under my mattress unattended."

"Rats." Brendan made a fist.

"So what'll it be?" Assumpta took back the photograph. "Think about it while I pop this on the fridge."

"Peter can pour." Brendan said.

"'Tis true, but he's off duty." She called back.

Father Aidan came in and greeted them. "How's everything?" He asked, sneaking a peak at the baby.

"Fine, fine." Brendan said, eyeballing the taps.

Assumpta caught him at it, "God, pour the thing yourself. Oh, Father. Hi."

"Assumpta, I hear congratulations are in order."

"You do?"

"You're getting married?"

"Oh, right, yeah." She was half way through pouring Brendan's pint and stopped. "Actually, I need to, ah, Peter could you take over?"

"Sure." He stood up.

Assumpta raced out the front door before Peter got anywhere near Brendan's beer.

* * *

Anybody out there or have the spam filters obliterated my readers?

Have a lovely weekend everyone. We're off to the seaside so I've about eight hours of road trip for writing... assuming I don't feel queasy. Which probably means updates next week for you, even if I don't get reviews. Still, wouldn't hurt ;)


	35. Chapter 35

Assumpta knocked on Niamh's front door but only heard Kiaran crying inside. She tried the latch and easily opened the door. Niamh was probably trying to calm Kiaran. Assumpta headed that way; perhaps she could help – make up a bottle or something. She stopped at the view framed by the open bedroom door. Niamh, tears streaming down her face, was holding the baby on her knee looking right at his distraught face and saying something a lot like, "I know, I know, exactly, right y'are, I know."

On a pronounced sniff, Assumpta stepped into the room. "I'm so sorry. I was going to ask you to be bridesmaid. I just hadn't gotten – I mean, we don't even have a venue. It's just a date."

In her surprise, Niamh had calmed a little and Kiaran was crying at a less furious volume. "You set a date?"

"I didn't realise Peter had already spoken to Father Aidan."

"Father Aidan? But I thought you couldn't - "

"No, no we can't, but he can do a blessing or something. I don't know. Anyway, I meant to tell you. I'm so sorry."

Niamh just shook her head.

Assumpta sat down on the bed. "Wait, you hadn't heard. What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing. I just - " Niamh burst into tears again.

Assumpta put one arm around Niamh and took the baby onto her knee with the other.

"I just don't know what to do. There's nothing to fix. There's nothing - " she sobbed into Assumpta's shoulder.

"Oh, Niamh, I'm sure there's something can be done."

"But _what_?"

Assumpta felt the full extent of her disqualification for giving advice, not only because she was waiting on final divorce papers herself, but because Niamh was yet to name her marriage as the cause of the waterworks. Assuming anything right this minute might only make matters worse.

"Everything that draws attention to the problem only seems to make it worse. And then Orla said something about Ambrose never going anywhere, never going out, and I defended him, automatically I guess. But he doesn't, does he? Kiaran and I are all he has and what if it's not enough. What if _I'm_ not enough? And maybe _he_ isn't enough for me? I don't know anymore."

"But surely you don't need to _be_ _enough_ for each other. I mean, you can have more in your life than just one person, other interests, friends. It's a lot to expect from one other person, to be your _whole_ life, your whole world."

"Sounds good in theory but this is the real world, or maybe it's just me. It tends all or nothing I think."

"I'm hardly qualified, I know. But it's worth a try isn't it?" Assumpta looked Niamh in the eye, "We'll send the boys to the bright lights of Cilldargen and have, I don't know, ladies night at Fitzgerald's? Or rent some terrible corny film – not a romance – and I'll do popcorn buttered to within an inch of its life. Oh, alright, butter and sugar."

Niamh smiled.

"Bit of time apart and you'll miss eachother."

"Might take more than one evening."

Assumpta smiled.

"Shall we call it your hen's do?"

That was the last thing Assumpta wanted. "Absolutely!"

* * *

Brendan did the first shift Saturday night but then Aisling slept till the crack of dawn and Peter, already awake, jumped up to get her. He'd figured out the milk thing. So had Aisling, apparently. Her cries silenced as soon as she saw the tin of formula open. She gulped back her bottle, giggled, cried again, then let out a ripper belch. Peter laughed, threw a tea towel over his shoulder and sat down on the couch. He held her up, rubbing her back. Call them bubbles all you like, he thought, a belch is a belch.

Assumpta would have been six months gone by now, definitely showing, probably exhausted and grumpy. There wasn't a doubt in his mind he'd be living at Fitzgerald's had that pregnancy stuck.

He fought the reflex to stop the tears. Crying was therapeutic, he'd told how many distraught parishioners. No one would see. Let them flow. Can't make things worse.

And then Brendan walked in. Peter swiped at his cheek too late.

"What's going on?" Brendan stopped, watched his friend.

"Oh, I'm just - " Peter sighed, "Nothing new, don't worry. It's just, ah - "

"Is there something wrong with – well, a reason you and Assumpta might not be able to you know?"

"No, it's not that. No."

Brendan sat. "I'll take her."

"No, she's fine." Peter rubbed Aisling's back, comforting himself as much as the cutest burping wonder you ever did see. "She's fine. We're fine. It was," he sighed, "I didn't tell anyone." Father Mac had guessed but that was besides the point. "Do you know what an ectopic pregnancy is?"

Brendan stopped, understanding smacking him upside the head, then he nodded. "She was pregnant when Leo left?"

Not complete understanding then. Peter shook his head, "No, not then."

"Oh, so," Brendan didn't finish what he'd been about to say, but watched his friend closely, then shook his head, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Peter nodded, swallowing as if it might clear the thickness in his throat.

"Your child?"

Peter nodded again.

"Sorry." Brendan said.

"Fair question."

"Oh man." Brendan sighed, "And she had to abort."

"We did, yeah."

"Was that why you left?"

"What?"

"Why you left the priesthood?"

"No, it was after I'd left. No, we never - " Peter shook his head, "Well, obviously we did, but not until after."

"I don't need to know."

"No," he nearly smiled, "but there it is."

"Big year."

Peter nearly smiled. "Assumpta suggested I tell you actually. Hard to bring up though."

"No kidding. I'm so sorry, Peter."

Peter nodded. "Still, the timing would've been tricky."

"People might have assumed, well, any number of things." Brendan said.

"This way no one will ever know what goes on behind closed doors, but - "

"Lucky or what?" Brendan said, just the way Assumpta would have.

"Or what." Peter sat Aisling on his knee so that she faced her father.

Brendan waved one finger at her. "Your time will come and it'll be great. God knows you'll be better prepared that I was."

"You do great. What are you on about?"

Brendan laughed, "Good man. Breakfast?"

* * *

Finishing up Sunday night, Assumpta was dreading Peter's departure. He often took Mondays off and with all the wedding stuff to organise, not to mention Christmas on the horizon, he'd probably have a to-do list as long as his lovely warm arms.

He came out of the loos, pulling off rubber gloves, smiling at her, "What's next?"

"That's you done, yeah?"

"If you insist. I'll do your ash trays for a jar."

"Done." He stacked the full trays on the bar and she ferried them out. They still had a few customers, and not just the regulars. Peter caught up with her in the kitchen. He ran the tap, rinsing off the sticky dust. "Are you knackered?" He watched her, curious and caring. "I can head home if you want an early night, but I'm not in a hurry."

"No. No, stay."

"You're sure?"

She nodded and with a pat to his shoulder, rather than the embrace she really wanted, she returned to work. The next hour passed happily, working side by side and over-diligent so that their time alone wouldn't be all work.

Padraig was taking his time on his last order, "Just me or do you get the distinct impression these busy bees want rid of us?"

Brendan gave a single nod, "My first night out, a free man, in days!"

Peter laughed, "No hurry, guys." But he didn't pause in polishing up the taps.

Assumpta sidled up to him when he was a bit further away. "Go on up." She whispered.

"Up?"

She smirked, shook her head, "Hang out with Lizzy."

"I think I prefer the company down here."

"They'll only take longer with you around."

"I meant you."

"Good."

He blinked a concession and took off upstairs without saying goodbye or goodnight to anyone.

She found him, feet up on the small sofa, a book in-hand. "What you reading?" She lingered in the doorway, happy to just watch him so at home in her space, even though he'd leave again in an hour or two tops.

He turned the book to show her the cover. Seamus Heaney. "Just in case I ever want to be Irish and there's a test." He swung his feet off the couch to make room for her.

"It's a good start." She sat down and picked up his feet, placing his legs across her lap. "As you were."

He tried to go back to the poem but kept peeking around the book at her. "Here is a space again," He read aloud, "the scone rising to the tick of two clocks." He caught her eye. "And here is love like a tinsmith's scoop sunk past its gleam in the meal-bin." He peaked again and caught her brilliant smile.

"Time to get you a green hat." She said.

"A spade perhaps."

"For the peat?"

"Is it?"

She laughed. "God, I love you."

He reached out his arm, letting the book fall closed on his other hand. She leaned into him, down the side of the couch, then tucked her legs up beneath his. He leaned his head till he could press a cheek to her hair.

She lay her hand over his chest, feeling for his pulse, a habit hard to kick. And there was no reason to do so. "This is far too comfortable."

"Yep." He opened the book. "The seed cutters. They seem hundreds of years away. Breughel – how do you say that?"

"Br-oy-gil, I think. You don't have to read aloud."

"I don't have to read at all, in fact." He pulled her up as he slunk down, catching her lips just barely.

She pushed off the far arm-rest with her feet and met him as he let the book drop to the floor, it's gentle thud like a starting signal they both ignored, kissing so leisurely, as if there was nothing beyond a kiss, or perhaps there were just so many millions of different kisses, plenty to keep them going. Desire waxed and waned, ignored not quite entirely. Lips well-swollen they lay there still, looking at eachother.

"You know you can stay, right? Without breaking any rules."

"You don't know how devastating you are."

She laughed. "It won't be up to you alone to keep things cool. I'll stop. Promise."

"This is cool, is it?"

"Tepid then." She let the back of her fingers brush up his neck. "Alright warm, but no hotter than that."

He smiled. "Okay. Warm, I can do." He lifted her hand to his lips, remembering how a gesture much like that had once brought him to the brink. He'd so nearly cried that night, but even without tears he'd given himself away. If Michael and Siobhan and Brendan hadn't returned to the work site just at that moment he'd have said something, _done_ something irreversible that very night. But his real regret was standing still and stupid in Assumpta's kitchen the next morning. She'd cried and he'd done nothing to stop it. That night in the firelight and the cold, he'd have done something rash, foolish. But in the cold light of day he'd known exactly what he was doing.

"What is it?" She was watching him too closely.

"Just remembering being a fool. Wondering how I got so lucky anyway."

"I thought we agreed on warm. There'll be no getting lucky for ye."

"I didn't mean - "

"I know." She pressed another kiss to his swollen lips.


	36. Chapter 36

Orla was first to arrive. "Hey hey hey!" She said.

Assumpta's answering 'Hey' was a bit on the pathetic side.

Orla turned to Peter. "Don't suppose you're staying. I once went to a bachelorette party and, let me tell you, the _priest_ was the highlight."

Peter turned beet red, "No, I'm on my way out the door."

"Ah, go on, pour us girls a little something to get us going. What do you say, Assumpta?"

Trying not to laugh, Assumpta caught Peter's eyes, their green than usual compared with the blush of his skin. "Why not?"

He complied, putting two generous glasses of wine on the counter. "Have fun." He said and made a bee-line for the exit, nearly running into Niamh on his way out. Niamh held up a veil, "Look what I found in my closet, ooh, one of them for me?"

"It is now." Orla went around behind the bar and nudged Assumpta out, then poured another glass.

Siobhan arrived next, in all her glad rags, "Evening girls."

"Evening." Assumpta smiled, hiding her dread.

"Are we heading out or staying in?" Orla asked.

"We probably don't need to be here." Assumpta turned to Siobhan, "Brendan won't be in, so no chance I'll make a profit."

"He better not be _in_. He's babysitting." Siobhan took a seat at the bar. "Yes please, Wench." She said to Orla.

"I should've brought my wench's outfit." Orla tipped the last of the bottle into a glass and then opened the next.

"What does a wench's outfit look like?" Niamh tugged on Assumpta's arm and then started attaching the veil to her hair.

"Imagine that," Orla pointed to the rather generous veil, "and not much else."

"Oh, then I do have one of those." Siobhan said.

Orla nearly choked on her drink.

"I brought videos, and popcorn too." Niamh said, plonking her open purse on a bar stool. "We have 'The Bodyguard', 'Titanic', and 'Liar Liar'."

"Ooh, Jim Carrey. Always a good laugh. Put the sinking ships and sap away." Orla happily took over, turning on the stereo rather than the television. Assumpta just laughed. How bad could it be? They put drinks in her hand, they danced, they kept the music loud enough that no one's terrible singing voice broke through the din. A while later, all worn out and border-line drunk they collapsed in the lounge and watched their video.

"Should have brought my pyjamas." Siobhan shifted to get more comfortable. Assumpta hoped to god they wouldn't actually sleep over. She cracked out the chocolates. Maybe sugar would counteract the alcohol and no one would fall asleep before the movie was over.

* * *

Peter was terrible at bowling. He'd always been terrible at bowling. But tonight it turned out rather fortunate. Ambrose was obviously feeling low, but at least he wasn't losing. Aidan, on the other hand, was on fire. He bowled strikes. He captured the attention of fellow bowlers, girls in fact, and that was even before he told them he was a priest. He was dangerously innocent, but Peter felt ill-qualified to question his methods. He certainly made friends with remarkable ease considering he'd spent so many years in a monastery.

"See you again some time." The girls held up their chips in salute.

"Well, there's mass every Sunday at St Joseph's." Aidan said.

"God and chips." The girls laughed, and so did Peter, wondering if he'd have tried the same bold invite, back in the day. Probably.

"If I had a pound for every time I heard that, I'd have three or four pounds by now." Aidan munched down on a chip.

"You could pay our bus fare then."

Peter outright laughed.

"Don't push it." Aidan waved them off.

"See you round."

"Goodnight." Peter said.

"God Bless." Aidan put in.

As soon as the girls were out of earshot Ambrose spoke up, "If someone had seen us – I'm a married man, you're a priest, and you," he paused on Peter, "well you're engaged."

"Worse than that, I _was_ priest." Peter said, feeling just a little guilty for enjoying Ambrose's silly over-reaction.

"So?" Aidan asked.

"It could have been difficult." Ambrose waved a chip as if that explained it better than he could.

"It wasn't." Aidan said, easy as that. "Relax." Maybe he was related to Orla after all.

Peter pointed out a table and they all sat down and then Ambrose apologised.

"What for?" Aidan said.

"I don't relax, you know, enjoy things. Like with those girls, you just talked to them, got on with them. But I couldn't. I always see things turning out for the worst."

"Why is that, do you think?"

Ambrose thought for a minute. "Maybe it's my job."

"But if you look at your life, it's obvious things can turn out great. You're good at your job, you've a lovely wife, a fine son. I'd say that's pretty good."

"Yeah, you're right. I should look at it like that."

Peter spoke up, "It's easy to forget what you've got, take it for granted. We all do it."

"Yeah?" Ambrose wasn't convinced.

"Absolutely." Peter nodded. "Even after a near-death experience."

Ambrose smiled at that.

"Just think how easy it would be for me to envy you two." Aidan said, "Mad in love with these incredible women. I might easily forget the things I love about being a priest, the privilege it is."

"I might easily forget how hard it was to be a priest. I might long for that simple life, the clear purpose and mission, the privilege, exactly."

Ambrose watched him, skeptical. "Really?"

"I might." Peter said, smile giving him away. "Sometimes, bits of it. Alright, I don't actually regret anything. But you and Niamh have been married for three years. Things that are special at first do often become ordinary. It's unavoidable."

Ambrose nodded and ate his chips.

"Doesn't mean it's not special. Just means you forget to notice it." Peter said, feeling a bit silly. Who was he to give advice on marriage? Once upon a time it had been his place, under-qualified though he'd been. Without the collar he was even less qualified. Mad in love, as Aidan had put it, was absolutely correct. Mad to the point of delusion, probably. What could he offer Ambrose?

* * *

"I can drop you at Brendan's." Ambrose said, driving them back into Ballykissangel.

"No, don't go out of your way. I like the walk." Peter said, and it was true, he did like the walk. He did it nearly every day. Aidan and Ambrose were inside their respective homes too quickly, giving Peter plenty of time to see that the lights were off at Fitzgerald's before he'd taken two steps toward Brendan's. Either the girls had gone out, and were still out, or they'd gone home and Assumpta was upstairs, in bed.

He let himself in the back door and slipped off his shoes, padding silently up the stairs. Half way up he realised he knew the place well enough that he didn't need lights. He smiled wide, unseen in the dark. Standing at Assumpta's door, he searched the lump in the bed for a form, and stopped on her bare foot. It'd give her such a fright she'd probably throw him out, but he so wanted to tickle the underside.

"Are you awake?" He whispered, instead.

"No." She said then groaned, "Don't tell me I have to get up."

"You don't." He touched the bottom of her foot and she snatched it away. He followed it under the covers. "It's the middle of the night. We just got back." He ran his hand up her leg, then skipped over all the dangerous territory and arms around her middle, he lay down, his face in her hair.

"I can't believe we got out-partied by a priest, a guard and you."

"Hey!"

She covered his cool hand on her belly with her own warm fingers. "Good night?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"You're not as drunk as you thought you would be?"

"No. No, I am."

He laughed, kissed her neck, "Is that right?"

"Need I remind you, you don't condone drunkenness. Or that." She lifted her shoulder, cutting him off from her neck.

"Oh, I was always pretty quick to blur the line for that particular vice." He brushed her hair aside and tried to get at the soft skin beneath her ear.

"Always?"

"Well, early in the proceedings."

"Ambushing me in Niamh's kitchen, you mean."

A mention of Niamh reminded him of Ambrose's concerns, of this downward spiral their friends seemed to be stuck in, but before he said anything Assumpta spoke up.

"I sold my wedding ring."

"What?"

She was playing with his fingers, her mind evidently wandering a different path to his. "I used the money to pay for the divorce. Didn't want to accidentally spend your money on my divorce. But the thing is there's a bit left over."

"How much do wedding rings cost?"

"I don't want to accidentally spend it on our wedding, is all. Silly I know, but there it is."

"Not so silly."

"I was thinking I might buy the prize for the quiz night with it. Or would that taint all the takings from the night?"

He laughed. "So long as you don't ask Father Aidan to launder it, it's fine by me."

She squeezed his hand and they lay there in silence for a while. "I found us a cottage." She said eventually.

"Yeah?" He felt her nod, her hair grazing his chin.

"It's cheap, but I've no idea how we'll pay for rings."

"We'll think of something."


	37. Chapter 37

"I thought it was going to be a battle of the bars." Brian took an unimpressed sip of his drink.

"This way everyone can be involved." Peter put Brian's change on the bar.

"For a fee."

"Five pound a team. Something toward the prizes."

"Which are what? A gift basket worth a tenner?"

Peter shook his head.

"Well, what then?"

"Bottle of Tyrconnell, Belgian chocolates, um, what else, 'Sumpta?"

"Your mother's secret Paella recipe."

"What?"

"See, it's priceless." Assumpta bit back a grin, darting her eyes to Brian, daring him to complain.

"Can't I just cook it for them?"

"Ah, fine." She smiled at him, gaze soft, lingering. Then she turned away with a breath of a laugh. They made a point of barely touching one another while they were working. People needed time to get their heads around these things. But when she looked at him like that Peter stopped in his tracks, every time. Surely they might as well be french kissing on the bar.

* * *

People hustled and rustled their teams. Brian and Father Mac snapped up the curate and his worldly wise sister. They might have preferred the Doc over the curate, but brother and sister were a package deal. Orla insisted. "No good can come of me and Aidan being on opposing teams. Trust me, Brian."

Niamh had hoped to have Orla by her side, but Emma Dillon was keen and at least she'd be up to date with celebrities and pop music – well, maybe. More likely than most. Though, with Peter Clifford was writing the quiz that might not be as useful as she hoped.

"I'll be on the team." Ambrose smiled broadly, approaching his wife at the bar.

"You will? Oh, great, but what about Kiaran?"

Siobhan put her hand on the bar, swallowing before she spoke, "With any luck he'll be upstairs asleep, with Aisling. Make-shift nursery in Assumpta's living room. Peter's idea."

"Dad'll be our fourth." Emma assured Niamh. "It'll be great."

"Yeah?" Niamh raised her eyebrows a moment, "Well then, we're a team." She turned to Siobhan. "I take it you and Brendan have snapped up Doc Ryan. As if any of the rest of us have a chance."

"Assumpta too." Siobhan looked pleased.

"Who'll be serving?" Brian said.

"The usual suspects." Peter put Ambrose's pint on the bar. "Between rounds. Short rounds." He grinned.

"Hand on a minute." Brian furrowed his brow, "You're writing the quiz. You're living with Brendan and, well, whatever with the landlady."

"Engaged, Brian."

"Fine, but you're clearly compromised."

"I am not."

Ambrose shook his head, "You can't have a team stacked like that. No way."

Peter just laughed, "It'll be fair. Questions are on my person, or well hidden. Don't you think I know how to keep a secret?"

"Hidden eh?" Brendan said, always one to wind up Brian, or Ambrose, and both at once was like Christmas.

* * *

As soon as Peter locked the front door that night Assumpta said, "On your person eh?"

He laughed, "I may not be a priest, but do they really think I'd cheat?"

"They think Brendan and I will cheat." She patted down his shirt. "To be fair, you have been known to bend the rules once or twice, placing bets, hiding bootleg beer, fixing the footy."

"I did not!"

She laughed. "Fine, the publican's race."

"Other than everyone's total lack of faith in my integrity, though, I'd say it's going well."

"Sure, and it doesn't hurt that they've taken to preparing their teams right here. A Paella party at new years and we'll be able to afford those rings maybe."

"I thought the Paella was just for the winners."

"_Free_ for the winners."

He held up his hands. "You're the boss."

"Good answer." She reached up on tiptoes and kissed him. "That integrity was what did it you know."

"Did what?" He stopped her from walking away.

"Swept me off my feet. Though, maybe that's not the right figure of speech."

He smiled. "Didn't hurt that I got up Father Mac's nose from day one."

"Not a lot, no." She pulled away to clean up.

"You know, it was probably the same for me too."

"Huh?"

"Integrity. Your Generosity. Kindness."

"Not just a whopping great surprise – goodness, not a good catholic, still a good person. Say what?"

"No, I don't think I gave up my vocation for the sake of a surprise."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Day after we met you drove me up a mountain, in the middle of the night – and you didn't leave me there."

"What _was_ I thinking?"

He shook his head, "And when Jenny – that woman from Manchester - "

Assumpta smiled. As if she needed reminding.

"- when she visited, you brought over her key, in the pouring rain no less, to spare me from gossip, or worse."

"Were you in that much danger?"

"I don't know. Probably not, but you didn't know that."

"Yes I did."

He stopped, just looked at her, "How?"

She shrugged, "I just knew."

* * *

Assumpta was pulling the last beer so Peter returned to the microphone corner. When she sat back beside Brendan he started the final round.

"As the scores stand, All Things Bright and Beautiful are in the lead with one hundred and thirty seven points."

Brendan's laugh rang out while his team mates just grinned.

"Old Dogs and New Tricks are in second place – " the exact number of points was drowned out by Orla's enthusiastic, "Oy oy oy!"

"And in Third third place It's Like That."

Emma and Niamh called out their near-rap response, "And that's the way it is!" before Peter sighed and read out the scores. Ambrose closed his eyes. Sean looked like he was about to laugh.

"And so, we begin the final round. Question one," Peter lifted his cards, "Name the capital of New Zealand."

Orla jumped from her seat, "Wellington!"

"That is correct."  
"Question two, what is French for bathroom?"

Assumpta called out, "Salle de," she scrunched her eyes closed and then leaned toward Siobhan, who whispered in her ear. Assumpta shook her head, "Salle de barn?"

Peter cringed, "Pronunciation's off, but yes, salle de bain."

"Yeah, yeah." Assumpta accepted Siobhan's high five somewhat begrudgingly.

"Question three, name all four teletubbies."

Niamh was up like a flash but got stuck after three.

"La la." Emma told her, without bothering to whisper.

"Oh, come on!" Brian protested.

"That's correct." Peter said, marching on, "Question four, name the band responsible for everybody Kung Fu Fighting."

Ambrose raised his hand but didn't wait for permission. "Bus Stop."

"And for a bonus, it's Bus Stop featuring...?"

Ambrose cringed, shook his head, turned to Emma. She shrugged.

"I'll open the question to the floor." Peter invited, but no one knew. "Carl Douglas."

"Who's Carl Douglas when he's at home?" Sean asked aloud.

"Five, spell the surname of the Unabomber." Peter smiled, a little smug at all the stumped faces around him.

"I don't even know his name." Emma whispered but the room was so silent everyone heard. Niamh pulled pen and paper from her purse and started trying out possibilities.

Brendan banged his hand down on the table. "Kaczynski." He closed his eyes and listed the letters, one after the other, bam bam bam.

"Father of my child." Siobhan said on Peter's nod.

"Damn." Assumpta shook her head.

"That's what I said." Siobhan laughed.

"Question six, Billy Chrystal has hosted the Academy Awards how many times?"

"Six!" Emma was quick off the mark. Her father nodded, impressed.

"And question seven," Peter went on, "Name the famous Hong Kong airport which closed for good this year."

Michael covered his mouth, mind clearly whirring away furiously, but Quigley beat him to it. "Kai Tak."

"That's the one." Peter gave Michael a shrug.

"On April sixteen, sorry question eight – on April sixteenth, Marie-Louise Meilleur died. What was her claim to fame?"

Michael smiled slowly, looking around, "I believe she was the oldest living person, at one hundred and eight."

"That is correct."

Congratulations buoyed the table. Ten questions later, however, and they were only one point ahead of Brian, Orla and the two priests.

"Question nineteen," Peter took a leisurely drink of his pint, "On which day in April was the Belfast Agreement signed."

"Oh, man. I should have paid better attention in history." Emma lamented.

"That was _this_ year." Ambrose near-snapped.

"The tenth." Father Aidan raised his hand as he spoke.

"Which brings us to the final question."

"We've won." Brendan said.

"Which has two parts." Peter went on, smiling wide.

"Of course it does." Siobhan leaned forward, ready for anything.

"Zambia and Zimbabwe once shared a name. What was -"

"Rhodesia!" Father Mac didn't have to leave his seat but his pulpit-voice certainly did.

Peter nodded. "And for the bonus point: on the border between these two nations lie one of the natural wonders of the world, a waterfall. Both countries - "

"The victoria falls." Father Mac interrupted.

"I'm afraid that does not answer the question." Peter took little pains to hide his satisfaction. "Both countries share the city surrounding the falls, and its significant tourism. Name that city."

Father Mac's eyes went wide and his entire team turned to him. It was on the tip of his tongue and they could all see it.

"It's not," Siobhan cocked her head to the side, "Livingston?"

Peter took his time, but his smile broke through and gave him away before he spoke. "Livingston is correct."

Siobhan was up out of her seat with a woop. Assumpta slumped back, hand to her chest and caught Peter's eye, smiling wide. Brendan and Michael got up, hugs all around.

Father Mac shook his head, unimpressed, but couldn't catch Peter's eye until the man was behind the bar and serving his drink.

"Awfully close, wasn't it?" The older priest handed over his money.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Peter have him his change.

"I've always wanted to go to Africa." Siobhan raised her glass in Father Mac's direction. "Incredible wildlife."

Father Mac almost nodded and took his drink off to sulk with Quigley.

* * *

Assumpta put a beer on the bar and told Peter he was off the clock. "So you might as well stop working."

"Oh, if you insist." he said, but kept on wiping down the bar till he was finished, then threw the towel over his shoulder and went to take the seat beside Siobhan.

A few more people said goodnight and left. Assumpta went to clear their table and grabbed the towel off of Peter's shoulder with a gentle, "'scuse me."

He turned suddenly at the feather touch then, relaxing, let his gaze linger on her. When she caught him at it, he asked, "Are we out of the red, do you reckon?"

"Oh, I think we'll live to see another day."

Brendan spoke up, "Do we have to pay for the drinks alongside this world-famous-in-Manchester Paella?"

Peter hesitated and Assumpta jumped to answer, "'fraid so, but feel free to save the Tyrconnell for the occasion."

Brendan tsked.

"How about one now?" Siobhan finished her drink. "One for the road."

"I'm driving." Michael said.

"Then you can drop us off, eh Peter?" Brendan put his empty beside Siobhan's.

"Does that mean I take the bottle – for safe keeping?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Siobhan shook her head, "You boys can walk it."

"So who keeps it?" Brendan demanded.

Assumpta took the bottle from its pride of place. "I will, since you all drink here anyway.

"Sounds fair." Siobhan nodded.

Assumpta waited on Michael and Brendan's nods before breaking the seal. She poured four drinks.

"And one for Peter." Michael said, to no opposition.

Peter looked to be on the verge of tears, but he took his drink, took his time.

Only that small crowd remained by the time he'd finished his really very nice dram.

"Well, we should be off then." Siobhan headed upstairs to fetch Aisling. Michael put on his coat. Brendan slung his over his arm. "And you thought I might need to cheat." He walked out without a word regarding Peter's plans for the night.

Once the door closed behind the lot of them, Assumpta turned to Peter, "That was easy."

He nodded but didn't speak.

"You alright?" She stepped around the bar.

"Sure."

She nodded, "Sure?"

"It's just been a long time," his brow wrinkled, "I suppose it just hits me again sometimes, I'm no longer a priest."

She smiled, "You should try waking up beside you."

He might have stayed with that thought but wanted to be understood, "Friendship is different, or might be. You never know if friends will still be such friends with or without the collar."

"Turns out they are?"

He nodded. "Some of them, yeah."

"So, happy tears?"

He laughed and swiped his cheek.

"You're going to cry at our wedding, aren't you?"

He considered a moment, "Possible."

She rubbed his upper arm. "I love you."

A half sob, half laugh escaped his lips. She took hold of his other arm, ran her hands up to his face and then kissed him.

After just a second he pulled her into a tight embrace, tearing their lips apart to do it.


	38. Chapter 38

"Something tells me," Brendan shook his head, "this is the year this place _really_ won't be open on Christmas."

"For once." Niamh smiled. "And probably for the best. We're around and neither my father or Ambrose's mother will be keeping him otherwise occupied."

"I wouldn't have been opening anyway." Assumpta threw a tea towel over her shoulder.

"Now that there's a moral authority on staff?" Brian approached the bar for a refill.

Assumpta pointedly ignored him.

"Where are you off to, Brian?" Brendan asked.

"Cloisters, where there's service."

Assumpta shook her head and pushed his glass into the dispenser. He could have a drink and pay for it but he wouldn't get a fresh glass or a smile to go along with it.

"Peace at last." Siobhan smiled into her beer.

Brian returned to his corner table where Orla was having a good laugh at Donal. Liam shook his head at the pair of them. Orla held up her hands as if to ask where the rest of the drinks were.

"I think they'd be safer if someone else ordered them."

"Ah, your usual charm not working, then?" Orla picked up her glass, still half full so no great hurry.

"So you're all having a quiet one?" Niamh asked.

"I'm not opposed to a party," Assumpta said, "I just don't want it here."

"Don't want to get stuck with the washing up," Niamh nodded, "fair enough."

Siobhan sighed heavily, "Well I'm pregnant and Niamh has two babies at home, but even with our combined nappy brain we could put on a better spread than these two." she nodded at Brendan but no one doubted she referred to his absent flatmate.

"Where is Peter?" Niamh asked.

"Making plans." Assumpta said but, when faced with three pairs of questioning eyes, when on, "He's up at Sean Dillon's sorting out having our wedding on his farm."

Niamh nodded, smile growing, "I know just the spot."

"It's a big farm." Siobhan tilted her glass toward Niamh.

"No there's one bit with a view across the valley." She turned to Assumpta, "It's perfect. Oh, what are you going to wear?"

"Dress is tradition." Assumpta offered, dreading the onslaught.

"Oh, boxing day sales." Niamh lit up, "I know you won't want to spend much but it _is _your wedding."

"Yeah, I know."

"We could make a day of it." Siobhan might provide a little intervention, a deflection perhaps, at least a tone-it-down ally. "I could do with something special. I've never married anyone before."

"And I'll need a bridesmaid's dress – don't worry. I'll cover it." Niamh grinned.

Assumpta looked from one to the other but before she had a chance to speak, Brendan banged his glass down. "You think Peter and I couldn't put on a decent turkey dinner?"

Siobhan looked at Niamh.

Assumpta said, "I didn't say that."

"Not my words." Niamh shrugged but her smile didn't budge.

"Ah, go on." Siobhan tipped the last of her drink down her throat. "I'll believe it when I see – no, taste it."

"Right then." Brendan began.

Peter walked in and laughed at the indignant faces all around. "Oh dear."

"This lot don't think the pair of us know how to cook a Turkey."

"I don't." Peter admitted.

"More to it than a turkey." Siobhan added.

"True," Niamh listed on her fingers, "Roast potatoes, roast carrots are nice but steamed would do, peas, gravy, then there's dessert."

"I thought I was doing Paella."

"You are." Assumpta eyed him as he ducked around behind the bar. He smiled and kissed her, nothing but a quick greeting but a moment later he realised they had an audience.

"Sorry," he turned to Brendan, "So why are you and I cooking a turkey?"

"Because this lot don't reckon we can hack it."

"To be fair, I'm barely confident with a chicken. I know the trick with potatoes is boiling them first but I don't speak from experience."

"I have recipe books." Brendan looked sideways, "Somewhere. How hard can it be? We'll follow the instructions. You'd better bring your appetite, is all I can say, because you'll want second helpings and you'll have to eat your words as well."

Siobhan laughed.

"Christmas dinner at Brendan's?" Niamh raised her eyebrows.

"Spread the word." Siobhan nodded once.

"There are only six dining chairs." Peter jumped in.

Brendan scanned the small crowd, "Five plus Ambrose. Done."

"You sure you can manage?" Niamh asked Peter a few minutes later, "I mean, on top of the wedding."

"Never mind if they can't." Siobhan looked to Assumpta, "We're trying on dresses the next day."

Peter's eyes went wide for a moment but he didn't say a word till later that evening, while the water gurgled down the drain in the kitchen sink. "I hadn't considered a dress." He said.

"I'm no stickler for tradition but I think you'd look better in a suit."

He laughed, "I can _borrow_ a half-decent suit. What are you going to do?"

She shrugged. "I found mum's up in the attic. But it's so old fashioned."

"It fits?"

"Sort of," she shrugged, "I don't know, what do you want me to wear?"

"Whatever you like."

"No, I know, you'd love me in sack cloth, but do you especially want white?"

He shook his head, "Honestly, whatever you like."

She sighed, "Well it is for your benefit so give me something to go on. What do you like of my usual clothes?"

He looked trapped but fingered the edge of the red shirt she had on. "This colour is," he shook his head, "I like it. It's warm; it's... you."

"A red wedding dress? Don't you think they've all got enough to say about me?"

"_They _being our closest friends and family."

"Yeah, cause not a one of them might happen to mention a red wedding dress. That'd never get out."

He conceded with a nod, his hand still on her shoulder, thumb curled over the collar to graze the line of her jaw. "Don't wear anything uncomfortable. It might be a long day, but really, whatever you like. I'll love it. I'll love you in it."

"Or out of it."

He laughed but barely.

"So Sean is okay with it all?"

"Yeah, no problem, so long as everyone uses the bathroom before they leave home."

"We'll put a note on the invitations – oh God, invitations."

"It's okay," he shook his head, "They're on the computer at the school. Brendan let me borrow it."

"They're done?"

He shrugged. "On approval. I can print them soon as you say so."

"I say so." She hugged him tight. "You're incredible."

He laughed, hands skirting up and down her back, "You can have a look before we print them."

She shook her head, lifting her face to his neck. "Just do it. I'll lick the envelopes. I don't think I realised how much more work it would be for you when I bagsed the honeymoon bit." She kissed the curve beneath his jaw.

"I don't mind." He brushed a kiss across her temple then closed his eyes, relishing the tender touch of her lips on his neck. "I never thought I'd be doing this – or this."

She found his pulse and opened her mouth against it.

"Assumpta, do you have any idea."

She pressed her tongue to the thrum and said, "Mm-hmm," in the affirmative.

He let out a shaky breath, his entire body responding to the tug of her lips on his skin. She watched him and marvelled. That was all he'd done, the first time he'd ever kissed her, and she'd responded much the same. But not for long. She'd fled. Perhaps he'd never known the effect he'd had. The _effects_; no single thing. Longing, disbelief, regret, desire, despair, doubt, desperation, pity, confusion and then anger.

He could still elicit most of those from her, all too readily. He leaned closer, one hand on her hip so that she'd stay near.

"This is getting to be a habit," he said.

"Staying the night?"

"Hm."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I know."

"Yet."

"I know." He nodded, brushing his lips against her head, catching for a moment on the ridge above her eye. "If I'm not careful I'll accidentally move in again."

"It wasn't an accident last time."

"No. Do you ever think – if things had turned out differently, if it had worked out - "

"The pregnancy?"

He nodded. "I'd never have moved out."

She paused a moment. She hadn't considered that, but now that he said it she couldn't doubt it. "Not long now."

"No." He took a deep breath and leaned back but didn't step away.

"Right, off you go then." She didn't move either.

He spread his fingers across her side, palm flat and rising. He stopped at her breast, thumb to the peak. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Yeah." She could only whisper.

"Only it's never so obvious."

"Doesn't make it any less real."

He kissed her without restraint, but briefly. "Let me do this. Let me learn." He moved his hand down, kissing her again before she could answer. But the answer lay in the kiss, the release. She let go of him and planted her hands on the bench behind her.

He opened his eyes, paused for permission. She barely needed to nod, standing open, poised like that. Any trepidation in her eyes melted at the first touch.


End file.
